


On the Job

by whitehawk



Category: SWR - Fandom, Star Wars, Star Wars: Rebels, kanera
Genre: A New Dawn, Action & Romance, F/M, Hera and Kanan, Kanan and Hera, Post-Star Wars: A New Dawn, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Rebels, Pre-Star Wars: Rebels, Sexual Content, Star Wars: A New Dawn - Freeform, kanera - Freeform, kanera fanfic, post-AND, whitehawk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:44:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 45,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9347585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitehawk/pseuds/whitehawk
Summary: Three months after meeting on Gorse, Hera Syndulla and Kanan Jarrus take on an easy job to pay the bills. But this simple cargo run turns out to be more complicated than they anticipated- in more ways than one. Disaster strikes in the form of gravity wells, interstellar parasites and one heck of an insurance swindle. Kanan and Hera have to maneuver through it all while trying to sort out their growing feelings for one another.Action, humor, romance, complications, doubt and trust.





	1. Landing Permit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera and Kanan arrive on the planet Brase to find some much-needed work.

The Ghost banked against steel-gray clouds, coming around again to face the mountain-hugged city below.

“No, I don’t have a landing permit,” Hera doled over the com for the second time. “I’m here in response to an employment posting by the Commerce Guild.”

A female voice rumbled from the speaker, “Brase Spaceport no longer recognizes the authority of the Commerce Guild. Without an official permit we request that you deviate from your present course.”

“Okay. How do I get a landing permit?” She switched off the fuel warning blinking overhead and pressed her lips into a thin line. Fifteen percent remaining.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but in accordance with Brase Planetary Regulations, Whyllton City Spaceport Authority Ordinance states that all unregistered interplanetary spacecraft…”

Hera rolled her eyes as Kanan slid into the co-pilot’s seat. He cocked an ear at the com, took something out of a bowl and held it up to her. Hera’s nose turned towards the tangy, metallic aroma. She took the meiloorun slice from him without taking her eyes off the sky. The voice droned on as she chewed.

“…have to return to orbit until your employer files for a permit.”

Kanan exchanged an annoyed expression with Hera as he popped a rosy slice into his mouth.

“That’s not really going to work for me,” Hera said around the fleshy fruit. “Isn’t there some kind of standard docking permit for visitors?”

“A tourist’s permit is available upon landing for three hundred credits.”

Hera gawked at the com while Kanan half-choked, thumping a flat palm against his chest.

“I read on the holonet that the fee was only a hundred,” she said in a controlled voice. She didn’t think there was that much to see on Brase, anyway.

The woman let out a poorly muffled sigh. “I understand your confusion, ma’am. But according to the new Imperial Regulations, only ships with pre-existing authorization are grated permits under that fee structure.”

Kanan made an irritated noise and threw himself back in his seat. He shoved another slice of meiloorun into his mouth next to the other one. Brase was supposed to be one of the few mid-rim planets left without an Imperial presence. It was one of the reasons Hera had chosen it. The other reasons were that its Commerce Guild was advertising for free-lance freighters– and they desperately needed credits. But Hera wasn’t thinking about that just now. She was more interested in the way the controller had said “Imperial regulations” like it was some kind of obscenity.

“Here, too, huh?” she asked. She knew it was a risk to show any sort of political dissent, especially when negotiating with a public employee, but she’d taken worse risks before– just not with so little fuel.

Her gamble was rewarded with a short huff from the controller. “New regulations came down last week,” she grumbled. “We’re all still getting used to them, ma’am.”

Hera was working out how to use their mutual distaste for the Empire to her advantage when Kanan waved his hand, drawing her attention. His mouth was full of juice and pulp, but that didn’t stop him from trying to talk.

“Unh-unh-erow-ooh,” he grunted.

Hera gave him her best What?-face and shook her head, making her lekku sway.

Kanan sat up and held up his index finger emphatically. “Uhn!” he said.

Hera leaned sideways towards the com. He better know what he’s doing, she thought. “In that case, I should report that I’ve got a one…”

Kanan reemphasized his finger.

“…one…”

He closed his fist.

“…zero…”

Two fingers.

“…two…”

He nodded and sat back, chomping self-assuredly.

Hera’s eyes narrowed at him for a second before she added, “Do you think you could help us out with that?”

As the click-clack of fingers echoed over the speaker, Hera mouthed What is that? at Kanan. He only raised his eyebrows and nodded towards the com.

The female voice chuckled lightly. “Understood,” she said. “Transmitting approach vector and docking details now. Report to Whyllton City Spaceport Control to purchase your permit within the hour, Expedient Two. Control out.”

Hera’s display lit up with information and she banked the Ghost away from the approaching clouds. The Ghost– known in this sector as Expedient Two– made its descent in a wide, graceful spiral. Kanan offered the last meiloorun slice to Hera before wedging the empty bowl between his feet. She held the ruby-red wedge halfway in her mouth and guided the ship into the city’s airspace. White and red buildings grew larger, giving way to clusters of docking bays. They were the circular, top-landing kind. Many of them had cracks in the walls although the whole thing looked relatively new.

Kanan swiveled to the controls on his right. There was a slight pull as the Ghost fully equalized with Brase’s stronger gravity, pulling Hera’s lekku down an extra centimeter. She chomped down the last of the fruit as new air hissed through the vents, mixing the internal and external atmospheres. She activated the landing thrusters. With all the grace of a master pilot, she maneuvered the Ghost into the bay and set the ship down with barely a thud.

Kanan’s screens cycled through the usual readouts. “Relays stable… life-support balanced… output nominal…” His voice drew out the last syllable as he checked a gauge. “We’re good to go,” he said.

Hera switched off the engines and made for the ladder. Kanan was right beside her when she hit the control to the ramp. Fresh air rushed into the cargo hold and brought with it the pungent aromas of engine grease, ionized air and charred permacrete. She breathed them in deeply.

“So, are you going to tell me what a code 1102 is?” she asked over the ramp’s mechanical whirr.

He smiled at her and readjusted his gloves, wiggling his fingers through the holes. “You’re just going to have to trust me,” he smiled.

The ramp clanged to the floor, echoing against the walls. “Spill,” she demanded.

Kanan scratched his beard the way he did when he was deciding how much truth to tell. “It’s just a trick I learned a few years back,” he said. “If you’re having trouble getting a landing spot you can send in a code 1102.”

“Which is…?”

“Imminent septic tank purge,” he grinned.

Hera sighed. She should have known it was something like that. “This ship doesn’t have that kind of septic tank. We have an incineration system, remember?”

Kanan gestured aimlessly as they walked across the landing bay. “They don’t know that. Anyway, that’s not the important part. If this person at the spaceport is a lifer, like I think she is, she’ll know what ‘1102’ really means.”

Hera frowned and arched an incredulous eyebrow. Kanan’s banter usually amused her, but she wasn’t in the mood for it right now, not with so much riding on this visit.

Kanan caught her grimace and cringed slightly. He wove his head back and forth, searching for the right words. “In polite terms it means that fortune will fall on whoever accepts the 1102, instead of… well, you know.”

Stopping next to the exit, Hera set a hand on her hip. “It’s a bribe, isn’t it?”

“It’s a bribe and a legitimate emergency,” he corrected. “Nobody wants that stuff falling all over their spaceport.”

Hera shook her head. Sometimes it frustrated her how much more Kanan knew about the shady side of the galaxy than she did, other times she was grateful for it– like now. But she was learning his tricks, little by little. In the three months he’d been aboard the Ghost she’d learned a lot and this was just one more sabacc card hidden up his sleeve. Hera wondered if she’d know all his secrets one day.

“Well, it’s too late now,” she sighed. “But you have to go down to the spaceport to work all this out.” She poked him in the chest and he looked down at her finger as if it were a deadly weapon. “Just remember that the whole reason we’re here is because we don’t have a whole lot of ‘fortune’ left. In fact, if we don’t get some ‘fortune’ in the next few days you and I will be looking for day jobs to make our own ‘fortunes.’”

“Would you relax?” Kanan took her hand and smoothed out her fingers. The tension in her shoulders unclenched as she let her palm open against his. Kanan’s hand was warm, even through their gloves. Was it the first time they had touched like this? She couldn’t remember.

She decided not to overthink it. She let her hand drop away, but kept up her scowl razor sharp. Undaunted, Kanan smiled down at her with that boyish grin that was so frustrating. She was about to let her own smile break through when his eyebrows suddenly pulled together. Kanan’s head snapped up as a low rumble rose from the ground.

At first it sounded like a spacecraft lifting off from one of the other hangers, but the noise didn’t change the way it would have when a ship reached open air. Instead, it stayed low, reverberating through the permacrete with increasing strength. The Ghost’s durasteel deck and walls joined in the rattling as the ground lurched. Kanan reached out to steady Hera, but his help wasn’t needed. The clatter vanished just as quickly as it had arisen. An eerie quiet fell over the landing bay as white, dusty rivulets of pulverized plaster trickled down the walls.

“Ground quakes?” he asked the open air.

Hera’s eyes instinctively searched for damage to the building or– more importantly– her ship, but there wasn’t any to be seen and there wouldn’t be with such a minor shake.

“I’d heard Brase had a lot of them,” she said. “Never thought we’d be here long enough to feel one.”

Kanan nodded and surveyed the newly widened cracks in the walls. Alternating layers of flexicrete and some kind of foam lay exposed to the air.

“Must be our lucky day.” He shrugged grimly and hit the remote. The ramp of the Ghost clanged shut.

* * *

The lists of businesses, agencies, bureaus and organizations housed in the Whyllton Central Commerce Plaza, or CCP for short, was extensive and poorly organized. It listed the offices by location within the building instead of by type or even aurebeshically. Hera scanned meticulously over the informational display, dragging her finger along the glass. She’d hate to lose her place and have to start over again.

They were in the central hub at the heart of the building, a ring-shaped structure thirty stories tall. The central atrium was set with dozens of cheap tables and ringed with food stalls. It was past lunch and the atrium was mostly empty. Cleaning droids were whirring over the floor while organic service-beings wiped off the tables and straightened chairs. Warm humidity laced with the competing scents of various foods moved across Hera’s face, making her feel sticky and hungry at the same time. Overhead, a transparent plasteel dome rattled under a sudden gust of wind.

Hera moved her finger from the eleventh floor listing to the twelfth, frowning to herself. She’d never been so strapped for credits before– not since she came into possession of the Ghost, at least. Senator Gall Trayvis’s bold speech against the Empire three weeks ago had emboldened dozens of beings to speak out in solidarity. As usual, Hera had watched the flurry of grievances ripple across the holonet– wary of an ever-watchful Empire– annotating locations and assessing potential. She’d identified a few suitable beings and infinitely more unsuitable ones. She and Kanan had then proceeded to travel from one side of the Mid-rim to the other following up on the more promising leads. Well, mostly it was her doing the following up. Nine times out of ten Kanan opted to stay on the Ghost or go off on his own. The other one time he tagged along and made a point of looking the other way. Hera sighed. Building a rebellion took a lot of work (something she knew better than most other beings in the galaxy), but right now it was the money it required that was catching her off-guard.

She slowed her gloved finger as it slid down the long list, face close to the glass. Here is was, the Commerce Guild. Level fifteen, east section, offices Esk through Grek. She gave the letters a satisfied tap and continued her search. Now where was that blasted Spaceport Control?

A familiar shape sidled up to her. “How’s it coming?” Kanan asked.

She held up a single finger without answering and continued down the list. Kanan didn’t need to be told twice and he leaned his hip against the edge of the display board.

Brase Unbreakables… Landstar Systems… Kyctyc Corporation…

“Here,” she finally said. “Spaceport Control is on level twenty-one, south section, offices Aurek through Dorn.” She lifted her head to see if he was listening, but was staring at something over her shoulder with sharp intensity. Hera knew that look. She turned around and her hand drifted towards her blaster.

On the far side of the atrium the janitors scattered like lesser fish before an opee. A familiar stamping of boots and clunking of armor accompanied an unmistakable flash of white. Four immaculately polished stromtroopers flanked a single gray-clad Imperial officer. Even in the dull light leaking down from the dome, the officer’s insignia flashed authoritatively. Three red squares, three blue and a single code cylinder. A naval captain.

Hera’s face tightened. She hadn’t seen any Imperial vessels in orbit when they’d made their approach on Brase, which meant that this woman with her shoulders pulled back proudly was stationed dirt-side. The Brase Spaceport controller had said that new regulations had come down just a week ago. Watching the captain march through the atrium now, Hera got the feeling that those new orders were just the beginning.

The miniature parade made its way to the long concourse leading back to the main entrance and disappeared down the long hallway. Hera silently hoped the wind outside would knock that stupid little hat right off that Imperial’s smug head. The echoes of marching faded away and the room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Rain pattered against the dome far overhead and the atrium returned to its previous storm-hushed murmur. A few beings were slow to pull their eyes from the place where the Imperials had disappeared. One by one they shook their heads and shuffled along their ways.

Hera took a deep breath of thick air and felt her shoulders sag. The Empire was expanding and there was nothing she could do to stop it– or even slow it down. Not now, at least, she reminded herself. Someday their numbers would be enough, their resources and their skills. She just needed to keep working, keep doing her part, keep pulling people together, building networks and gathering information. And to do that she needed resources, she needed allies, she needed fuel, she needed–

Her stomach growled noisily.

Hera rolled her eyes. Yes. She even needed food.

“Sounds like those slices of meiloorun’ve worn off,” Kanan chuckled holding something out to her. “Here. I thought you’d like this.”

Hera eyed the oversized waxed-paper cup billowing with steam. “What is it?” she asked pulling it to her nose. A warm, hearty haze enveloped her face and filled her nostrils. Her mouth began watering immediately, recognizing what she was holding before she did. “Shaala stew?” she gawked at the Rylothian dish. “Where did you find this?”

Kanan nodded at one of the food stalls lining the atrium. “There’s an ‘Outer Rim’ place over there. Couple of Sullustans running it. Nice folks.”

Hera breathed in the rich aroma and took a sip of dark brown broth. A ribbon of shaala slurped into her mouth. The mushroom’s astringent, earthy flavor washed over her tongue and pulled her mind into a time and place far, far away. She could almost see the cool, dry caves snaking beneath the desert. It’d been years since she’d tasted Rylothian home-cooking.

“Good?” Kanan’s voice gently invaded her reverie.

Eyes still closed, Hera took another sip, chewed slowly and savored the flavors. “Yes,” she answered and pressed her hands into the cup.

“Good,” he said, and something in his voice made her open her eyes. Kanan was grinning as he produced a second cup from behind his back. “Because I got you two,” he winked.

Hera reached for the cup, carefully taking it from Kanan’s fingers like a child taking a precious piece of candy. “Thank you,” she murmured. Her mouth quirked up at the corner. “That was really…” she searched for a word, but all she could think to say was, “thoughtful.”

“Well, I ate most of that meiloorun this morning. I figured you’d be hungry.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but Hera caught the way his eyes lingered on her face, as if he was worried he’d somehow done something wrong.

Kanan’s arms dropped to his sides with a slap and Hera looked at his empty hands. “Did you get anything for yourself?” she asked.

“Not yet. Shaala’s a little too strong for me, but there’s a sandwich place over that way I’ll hit up when I’m done at Spaceport Control. Looks like there’s a two for one deal on today.”

Hera nodded and raised the half-drunk cup to her lips. Just like she’d hoped, the munch fungus had gathered at the bottom. She tipped the cup back and savored the slippery, bubble-like mushrooms as they danced along her tongue. She’d have to meet the Sullustans who’d made it and compliment them.

Hera opened her eyes and let out a long, satisfied sigh. Kanan was right where she’d left him leaning against the display and watching her with a little smile. Hera braced herself for some self-aggrandizing remark about his innate generosity, but it never came.

He held her gaze for a second before nodding to the map. “So, did you find Spaceport Control?” he asked.

Gulping down the remains of the first cup, Hera nodded. She nested the second cup inside of it and pointed to a single line on the sprawling list. “It’s right here,” she said. Kanan read out the location.

“I’ll take care of things up there and meet you back here,” he said. “Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. Any idea how long you’ll be at the Commerce Guild?”

Hera shrugged, gnawing at the edge of the cup and breathing in the fragrant steam. She didn’t want to drink it too quickly, but the homey flavors teetered on the edge of irresistibility. “Not really,” she said, pulling her thoughts back. “Maybe two or three hours?”

Kanan’s eyebrows went up. “Well, at least I’ll have time to eat my sandwich.” He gave a stretch and pushed off the display. “See you back here in a while, then. I’ve got a faulty septic system to report.”

As he made for the same bank of elevators the Imperials had come out of, Hera chuckled to herself. She dipped her mouth and nose into the fresh cup, taking a long, luscious sip. As she chewed the spongy mushrooms she kept her eyes on Kanan. Was there something different about him? Maybe it was the muted lighting filtering down from overhead.

At the elevator bank, Kanan held the door for a human woman with a child asleep on her hip. Hera couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could tell that Kanan was asking her what floor she wanted. He pushed the buttons and nodded politely to the mother. The doors slid shut and they were gone.

Hera stared at the closed doors for a long time, not blinking– not even thinking– only breathing in the warm aroma of shaala and munch and chewing slowly. A gentle warmth caressed her inside and out. When she finally swallowed she looked down into the cup pressed between her palms. There was plenty left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the completed first chapter.


	2. Close Quarters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a close call in the cargo hold, Hera does something unexpected.

Hera squeezed between the crates in a narrow, snaking path that led to a dead-end. She pulled out a datapad and ticked off the inventory. It was the largest load she’d ever taken on, and it wasn’t even for the cause. Even political dissidents had to make an honest living once in a while– and sometimes it was a menial one.

The metal cargo crates were piled half-way to the ceiling of the hold, four and five tall. Each one was filled with sundry goods from bandages to laundry detergent to eating utensils, and a variety of baby diapers suitable for a range of species. The owner of a small shop on Brase had retired and sold off his entire inventory to his brother-in-law on the other side of the sector. Moving dry goods wasn’t a glamourous job, but it would put fuel in the _Ghost_ and food in the bellies of her crew for another few weeks. Sometimes that was enough.

Hera ticked off the last few items just as a low rumble welled up beneath the ship. A second later the room began to quiver. Hera cast a wary eye at the floor. Another ground quake. Easily the tenth that morning. They never amounted to much, but Hera still felt claustrophobic between the towers of cargo. Once they got off this rickety planet, she’d feel a lot better.

Just as the rumbling subsided, a metallic clang echoed through the chamber. She shimmied in a side-gate around a few corners to where Kanan was squinting at his datapad.

“Are you about finished there?” she asked.

He reached up and tapped the pad against the top crate, stacked just above eye-level. “Almost. I still can’t tell what’s in this one. It’s either the protein bars or the toilet paper.”

“Wouldn’t want to get those mixed up,” Hera mused.

He gave a short laugh. “No kidding. Looks like I’m going to have to open it up. It’s a little high. Mind lending me a hand?”

Kanan braced himself against the wall of containers and netted his fingers. Taking the cue for a maneuver they’d performed a half-dozen times in legal and not-so-legal situations, Hera stepped into his hands. He hoisted her foot up to chest level with a flash of green and orange. After balancing precariously for a second, she unlocked the lid. Worn metal hinges squealed and ground against eachother and then stopped abruptly. Hera jostled the lid up and down. Each time the grating noise lessened and the lid moved a little bit farther.

“How’s it going up there?” Kanan grunted.

“The lid’s a little jammed.” She shoved again and her foot pushed into Kanan’s hands. He pulled in a sharp breath and readjusted his stance beneath her.

“Need some help?” His voice was strained.

Hera wiggled the lid. “I almost got it.” She gave another shove and was rewarded with a crusty yawn as the top opened halfway.

Hera peered in at a solid expanse of silver foiling. “Protein bars,” she said. Next to her knee, Kanan breathed a sigh of relief. He shifted, preparing to lower her back down, but she said, “No wait. I see something else.” An odd white triangle poked up from between the smooth mirrors of vacuum-sealed nutrition. “Maybe they’re both in here?”

Hera reached for the triangle as Kanan shifted again. “Any chance you could hurry it up?”

“Almost got it,” she said, pulling gingerly at the object.

That was when the next ground quake sent a shock of vibrations through the ship. Stronger than the last one, the tremors traveled through Kanan’s body and into Hera’s in a split-second. The floor bounced against Kanan’s feet like it was trying to shake him off.

“Hera?” he called, but she had no time to reply. The _Ghost_ shook more violently than ever. The crates chattered around them like giant, angry teeth. Kanan released Hera’s foot and she half-slid half-climbed down to the floor, squeezed against his body in the cramped space.

She grabbed Kanan’s hand and bolted down the aisle, but he yanked her back.

“No! Stay by the wall!” he said, wrapped Hera in his arms and pulled them tightly into the corner.

Just then, the rumbling amplified. The deck of the _Ghost_ jumped up and the squeal of rusty metal screeched out overhead. Hera looked up to see the crate she’d opened sliding down at them. She must have dislodged it with all her shoving!

It hit the stack of crates on the other side of the narrow passage, but that didn’t stop its descent.

“Kanan, look out!” she said.

He ducked down and put up his hand defensively just as the container wedged itself into the narrow gap. The shaking waned, but the crate crept lower with each fading jolt. Kanan and Hera kept their eyes on the heavy container suspended over their heads. Bit by bit the floor ceased to shudder and the _Ghost_ went quiet. Their eyes were glued to the container, but it was firmly stuck.

Hera breathed a sigh. “That was close,” she said.

As if in response, there was a delicate crumpling noise overhead. A deluge of silver protein bars belted Hera. They smacked onto her head, lekku and shoulders, clattering to the floor– all three hundred and fifty of them, if the manifest was correct. When the assault ended she opened a single eye and peered up cautiously only to be rewarded with a roll of toilet paper to the face. It bounced off of her forehead before tumbling onto the foil-sealed bars, unrolling as it escaped around the corner.

Kanan and Hera stared at the white trail the roll had left behind, then at the sea of silver wrappers up to the ankles. Finally, they looked at one another.

Kanan erupted with loud, wide-mouthed laughter. His shoulders shook and he leaned back against the crates behind him as if he couldn’t hold himself up.

Hera frowned. “It’s not _that_ funny,” she said.

“You should have seen your face,” he said between breaths. “You looked so… _pathetic_ when you saw that roll of toilet paper coming at you.”

“No I didn’t,” she protested.

“Yes, you did!” he insisted and snickered again. His chest convulsed with each deep breath he took in to regain his oxygen.

Hera smiled despite herself, a sardonic half-smirk that she was coming to reserve especially for Kanan and his antics. When he finally finished, he had tears caught at the edges of his eyes, making their greenish blue shine in the artificial lights. He grinned down at her with the last of his mirth and gave a final chuckle that bounced against Hera’s chest. It wasn’t until just then that she realized they were still holding onto eachother. Her hands flexed where they rested around his waist and Kanan’s hand shifted on her shoulder. The space between the crates grew quiet.

With a deep breath in, Hera stretched her neck upwards. She glanced once at Kanan’s mouth and her nose brushed against his cheek.

The kiss was soft to the point of being chaste. He received it gently but didn’t reciprocate more than was polite. His hands didn’t tighten on her shoulders; he didn’t crane down his face to meet hers. When she pulled away he opened his eyes slowly, a hard line between his dark eyebrows.

“What was that for?” he asked quietly.

Hera started to speak but stopped. “I’m… I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have done that.” She pulled away, but Kanan caught her by the hand again.

“Are you just going to walk away?” he asked.

“Away from what?” The exasperation in her voice surprised even her.

After a pause he said, “This.”

Hera looked at their clasped hands instead of at his eyes. Her lekku swayed limply behind her back as she shook her head. “I don’t know what ‘this’ is.”

Kanan tightened his hand around hers faintly. His voice was still soft. “Do you want to give up before finding out?” he asked.

She finally looked him in the face. Her green eyes were tight at the edges. “It’s not about giving up. It’s about timing. This just isn’t the right time for...” –she searched the towering cargo containers amid the silver-wrapped protein bars and the single roll of runaway toilet paper– “…this.”

Kanan’s face softened. “When is it ever the right time?” he asked.

Hera squared her shoulders and huffed, “When we’re not at war.”

Moments passed as Kanan studied her, his eyes never wavering from hers. The deep murmur of his voice filled the narrow passageway. “Life doesn’t care about good or bad timing or even about peace or war,” he said. “Life goes on, because that’s what life does.”

“Is that ancient wisdom?” Hera scoffed, but the words she meant to sound confident fell flat on the air.

Kanan shrugged. “Just my own kind of wisdom.”

Hera gave a weak smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth and looked again at their clasped hands. His hand was warm even though their gloves. Its shape and weight were familiar even though she didn’t remember ever holding it like this before. She searched for the part of her that would roll her eyes and make some cutting remark against his, but couldn’t find it. All she found was a desire to squeeze his hand and feel his arms around her again.

After a long time of waiting, Kanan’s grip slackened. He sighed heavily and drew in a deep breath.

“Kiss me again.”

His mouth was frozen half-open in a forgotten word. He cocked his head, like he doubted his own ears “What did you just say?”

Hera tensed, took a deep breath and faced him. Her green eyes were big enough to swallow the world.

Under her open gaze, Kanan’s astonished expression softened. His hand tightened on hers and he closed the half-step between them quickly, as if afraid she’d change her mind. A dozen protein bars scattered around their feet as Kanan slipped his free hand behind her head and guided her face to his. At first the kiss was soft and chaste like the one Hera had given him before, but after a moment it deepened. Hera lifted onto her toes and Kanan bent his neck. She pressed her hands against his back and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Hera’s heart thundered in her chest. Her lekku trembled as their noses shifted from right to left. He pulled in a long breath and drew her into him.

A buzzer echoed against the walls.

_Bzzrt!_

It wasn’t loud enough to be annoying, only enough that it couldn’t be ignored.

_Bzzrt!_

Kanan and Hera separated by a few millimeters, breathless against one another’s mouths.

_Bzzrt!_

“It’s the comm,” she whispered. “It must be our employer.”

“Right,” he said. His voice was deeper than she’d ever heard it.

Kanan’s hands tightened on her shoulders before Hera danced away around the mess of protein bars, gingerly avoiding crushing any on her way. “Can you clean this up before we take off?” she asked over her shoulder.

"Sure thing, boss,” he said with a delayed salute she didn’t see because she’d already turned the corner. Alone between the crates, Kanan pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead.

Hera climbed up the latter to the cockpit of the _Ghost_ and hit the comm switch as she took the captain’s chair. The blurry blue hologram of an Ithorian appeared on the console. “This is Captain Hera Syndulla,” she said.

“Hello, Captain.” His electronically modulated voice was warm and enthusiastic even through the staticy feed.

“We’ve just finished confirming the inventory and will be in the air in thirty minutes,” she said activating the displays on her console.

“That’s excellent news,” he beamed. “I know my brother-in-law will be pleased. He can be kind of a stickler about his merchandise– and punctuality– but he’s as honest and generous a businessman as they come.”

Hera nodded. She couldn’t disagree. Not only was Jhatu buying off all of Ajha’s merchandise at full price, he was also paying all of the _Ghost’s_ shipping fees. Everyone was set to make a respectable profit from this terrifically ordinary transaction.

“I’m still surprised you couldn’t find a local to handle this,” she said with a glance at the manifest. “This is a pretty straightforward contract.”

Ajha scratched the back of his neck. “Well, with the new regulations, all the local freighters are busy getting permits for this and inspections for that. I’d take the shipment myself, but I don’t want to go through all that hassle myself just for one last shipment.” His shoulders slumped in exasperation. “I just really want to get this done. My retirement is waiting and I’m ready to start living… _now_.”

Hera smiled. Hard working people leading honest lives: this was who she was fighting for.

“Anyway,” Ajha went on. “Jhatu’ll be waiting for you at the coordinates at nineteen hundred.”

“Copy that,” she said. She reached for the navigation, then– “Wait. Nineteen hundred? Isn’t that a little late?”

“Yes, but it will take you that long to get to Husera from Brase, you know.”

“I thought Husera was just on the other side of the sector. It shouldn’t take us more than two or three hours to get there.”

The Ithorian chuckled, a funny sound especially through the holographic feed. “You don’t seem to know this sector very well,” he said. “Husera is in an awkward spot. It’ll take you a good ten or eleven hours. More if you’re hyperdrive nav’s not up to par.”

“Oh, it is,” she said. She was already skimming through the star charts. “You’re right. There’re a lot of electromagnetic fields between here and there.”

“Gravity wells and neutron stars,” he said. “This side of the sector’s full of them.”

“I see why you don’t get many tourists around here,” she said under her breath, then added, “Well, it looks like I have a lot of nav jumps to calculate. I better get on it.”

Ajha’s thin arm reached out and disappeared off the edge of the holo feed. “I’m sending you Jhatu’s information now.”

Hera nodded as a screen lit up. Just then, another ground quake rocked the _Ghost_. She held onto the console and rode out the jittering waves with gritted teeth. Once it had subsided she said, “Sorry about that. You sure have a lot of those on Brase.”

Ajha laughed again in his odd, Ithorian way. “Those things were always knocking the shop around. That’s why we only bought and sold non-breakable goods!”

“Well, at least you’re used to it,” Hera said with little humor.

The Ithorian nodded and seemed to smile. “I’ve just sent over the information.”

Hera glanced through the coordinates and other details. “It all looks good,” she said. “I’ll contact Jhatu as soon as we’ve exited hyperspace.”

Ajha smiled and waved. “Enjoy the trip!”

“Roger that.” She gave him one last smile and added, “Good luck in your retirement.”

He clasped his hands eagerly. “You can count on it!”

“Syndulla out,” she said and cut the comm.

Hera poked at the nav computer and scanned over the maps. It was as bad as Ajha had described and worse. The sector was a mess, but nothing the _Ghost_ couldn’t handle. She set the computer to map out the details of their route and hit the internal comm.

“We’re off the ground in thirty.” She heard her own voice echo from the belly of the ship.

“Yes, ma’am,” the reply came over the speaker and Hera started on the usual pre-flight checks. As her eyes darted over engine readouts, she found herself lightly touching her lips. Her eyes unfocused in front of the familiar list of figures until she was staring at nothing in particular. Her attention was on her mouth and on the taste that lingered there.

He tasted like he smelled, like… warmth. Like the thick, green shirt he always wore. And tangy, like metal, like this morning’s meiloorun. Hera pursed her lips and ran the tip of her tongue from one corner to the other.

What was she doing? Abruptly, she shook her head to break the trance and bent back to her work. She fidgeted in the cockpit until the nav computer had its numbers, then checked and double-checked the hyperspace coordinates. She made the final adjustments to the route that would steer them clear of the nastiest bits and still get them to Husera an hour early.

Nine hours with Kanan.

She stared out the window at the blank permacrete wall and her grip tightened on the yoke. The ship was still on the ground but she was gripping it anyway. For the hundredth time in the past thirty minutes she replayed the scene in the cargo hold in her head. What had she been thinking? She rolled her eyes. There was nothing she could do about it now. The only option was to move forward as usual. They had a job to do and that took priority over anything else. It always would.

Hera took a deep breath and put herself back to work. She flipped the switches that needed flipping and checked the gauges that needed checking. Another soft rumble reverberated through the _Ghost_. She wouldn’t miss this planet, but made a mental note to put Brase on her list of friendly worlds with minimal Imperial presence. Ground quakes or no, you never knew when you’d need a place to lay low one day.

With her final checks complete and the hyperdrive coordinates in place, Hera flicked on the comm again. “Prepare for take-off.”

There was a loud clang from below followed by the familiar _clop clop_ of Kanan ascending the ladder. He slid into the co-pilot’s chair, sparing Hera only a slightly longer look than usual. She didn’t return it. Her eyes were already on the sky.

Hera kept the ship level as she guided it through the layers of cloud towards the outer atmosphere. The _Ghost_ gained altitude and a low groan sounded from the cargo hold as the containers settled against one another. As long as they didn’t fall over they were safe.

The clouds slipped past the viewport and over the back of the ship. Kanan poked at the nav computer. “Nine hours?” he goggled.

She nodded once. “That’s the path that the nav computer came up with and that’s the path that Ajha recommended.”

“And you couldn’t shave any extra time off of that?” he teased.

Hera nodded towards his console without taking her eyes off the sky. “I did reroute a few things and saved us about an hour, but there wasn’t much more I could do.”

Kanan scrolled through the maps and coordinate planes. “This sector is a mess,” he admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many gravity wells.”

“Lots of neutron stars, too,” she said. “All throwing off enough electromagnetic radiation to start their own galaxy.”

Kanan reclined in his seat. “No wonder they don’t’ get many tourists out here.”

“I told Ajha almost the exact same thing.”

Kanan barked a short laugh. “Great minds think alike.”

The _Ghost_ banked against the thinning air and Hera tilted the deflector shield to compensate for their shallow ascent. When the ship broke the atmosphere the pinks and whites of twilight disappeared into the deep black of space. The ship grew quiet without any atmosphere to carry the sound of the engines. All that remained was the internal hum of the Correlian craft powering its way into the stars.

Kanan entered their current location into the hyperdrive. “We’re good to go,” he said and Hera punched it. The stars turned into streaks and the blue spiral of lightspeed washed over the viewport and enveloped the ship.

Hera stood up while Kanan set up the auto-pilot. “I’m getting something to drink. You want anything?”

“How about a protein bar?” he turned around in his chair with a mocking grin.

She set her hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow in return.

After a second, Kanan lifted his hands in surrender. “Just kidding. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

Hera shook her head and left Kanan chuckling to himself. As soon as she turned the corner into the galley she let out the long breath she’d been holding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the completed second chapter.


	3. Interference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera confronts Kanan, but is interrupted by a swarm of gravity-wells trying to rip apart the _Ghost_.

Three hours into the trip and the _Ghost_ was purring like a loth-kitten. The blue of hyperspace swirled around the ship, pulling them along their journey from Brase to Husera. The cargo hold was silent, its contents awaiting delivery. But the quietest place of all was the lounge where Kanan and Hera stared one another down over the Dejarik table. Kanan was winning as usual, but Hera was unusually focused and had executed several excellent moves during the match. Kanan may have had more years of Dejarik experience from his days as a drifter, but Hera was as tough as she was smart. It was only a matter of time before she’d be able to wipe the floor with him.

She studied the board and made her move. The staff-wielding Monnok loped forward to the center of the table. It was a strategic maneuver, meant to draw Kanan into a more vulnerable position, but he repositioned his Ng’ok at the edge of the board. Hera studied the move with her chin in her hand as Kanan reclined back in the acceleration couch, stroking his beard.

Her eyes flashed up at him once. “What’s that look mean?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Just waiting to see what you’ll do.”

His cocky attitude made her worry she was walking into a trap, but Hera was well aware that Kanan’s nonchalance was as much a part of his strategy as the placement of his pieces. He kept his enemies off-balance with unexpected moves, then poisoned their decisions by making them double-guess themselves. He had a lot of cunning, doubtlessly the result of years on the move, bouncing from system to system and job to job. It took a person with extraordinary flexibility and creativity to lead that sort of life, and Kanan had excelled at it. That was why Hera took her time now and carefully studied the Dejarik board.

Kanan drummed his fingers on the top of the couch. “Time’s running out,” he said casually.

“I know how much time is left,” she replied without taking her eyes off the table. She reached for the controls and then jerked her hand back. No, he wouldn’t, would he? With a determined huff, Hera made her decision and Kanan’s long-armed Molator squealed in pain as it was destroyed.

Kanan watched the holographic carnage with a cool expression and leaned forward, still stroking his beard. His eyes flicked across the black and white tiles before he pressed the buttons. His last remaining creature, the Houjix, scuttled across the tiles, destroyed Hera’s K’lor’slug, then moved on to destroy her Monnok. The blue scorpion chittered in victory over its fallen enemies: the last creature left alive.

“How did you do that? It’s against the rules,” Hera exclaimed.

Kanan shrugged. “The game let me do it so it must be fair.”

Hera scowled down at the holographic images as they flickered out of existence. Where did he learn all of these tricks? How could he cheat at a game that couldn’t be cheated at?

“You messed with the programming, didn’t you?”

He chuckled. “I’m impressed you’d think I’d go that far.”

“Then how did you get two moves at once? And how did your creature suddenly become so much stronger?”

“What can I say? It’s the mystery of Dejarik. Play enough times and you’ll learn the mysteries, too.”

Hera folded her arms. “I guess you’re right,” she said. “Experience eventually conquers in the end.”

“Wisdom over beauty." He winked at her.

A laugh escaped Hera’s throat. Despite herself, Kanan’s flirting always amused her. “Do you want to play again?” she asked.

“I think I’m done for today.” Arms stretched out over the back of the couch, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Hera turned off the table and the room returned to silence. The whirr of the hyperdrive was the only sound until the refrigerator kicked on in the galley.

Hera’s smooth voice edged across the table. “So, are we going to talk about it?” she asked.

Kanan kept his eyes closed. “Talk about what?”

A pang of nervousness lanced through her stomach, but she quickly shoved it aside. She wasn’t going to feel uncomfortable around Kanan, not even about something like this. “About what happened in the cargo hold,” she said.

Kanan opened one eye to a slit. “What about it?” he asked.

She spread her palms on the table-top. “Kanan, we kissed.”

He shrugged from his awkward position. “You asked me to kiss you and I kissed you. When you ask me to kiss you again I’ll kiss you again, but better next time. Don’t get me wrong. That wasn’t bad”– he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the cargo hold –“but we can do better.”

Hera raised an eyebrow. There were several paths she could take. She could express disapproval at his nonchalance; she could take his comment as it was and let the conversation die; or she could renew her vow not to get involved with anyone until the war was won. But before she could reason her way through these choices, she found herself saying, “We can, can we?”

Kanan’s famous smirk spread slowly across his lips. His confidence was palpable as he eyed her without moving.

A beeping noise came from the cockpit and their heads popped up in unison.

“Proximity sensor?” he asked.

“Must be something out there.”

A minute later they were settling into their chairs in the _Ghost’s_ cockpit and turned to the displays.

“Looks like we’re passing a cluster of gravity wells,” Kanan said. “They must be playing with the sensors.” It was hard to get a clear reading of normal space from hyperspace, but it wasn’t impossible. Kanan adjusted the controls and gave a low whistle. “There’s a lot of electromagnetic interference. No wonder that guy didn’t want to make this delivery himself.”

Hera canted her head as she scrolled through the ship’s readouts. “Well, one Ithorian’s hesitation is another crew’s gain.”

Outside the viewport, something flickered.

“What is that?” Hera squinted at the churn.

Kanan leaned forward. “It’s changing colors,” he said.

Hyperspace’s blue and black patchwork was glimmering with blotches of dark green. It was faint at first, but soon the changing hues had filled up half the viewport. Hera wrapped her hands around the yoke.

Although it was a rare event, gravity wells always held the risk of knocking a ship in hyperspace off-course. Hera knew from a bad experience that any deviation would be accompanied by vibrations and a series of bumps. As far as the changes in the color spectrum were concerned, greens were fine– signaling nothing more than photonic interference– but oranges meant trouble. In truth, anything that crossed over into the warm color spectrum signaled a graviton bombardment, and that’s when things got hairy. Hera watched the green hues fade in and out of the swirl. If they were going to be knocked off-course, she would be ready.

As these thoughts passed through her mind, lime-hued fingers crept through hyperspace’s constant roll. The control yoke vibrated lightly in Hera’s hands and she tightened her grip.

In the co-pilot’s seat, Kanan’s fingers danced over his display, cloning over the pilot’s readouts and leaving Hera to focus on flying. His eyes flicked up at the fluctuating colors and back down again. “Engine output is nominal,” he said. “Subspace buffers are holding.”

Hera nodded.

The fuselage gave a hard shake. Next to Hera, Kanan looked from the shifting greens to her face and back down again. On his console he sifted through star charts, searching for possible escape vectors. And not just one. Kanan copied several sets of coordinates onto a blank screen, searched ahead on the start chart and calculated again. Just like Hera, he knew the worst-case scenario: if by some chance they were knocked out of hyperspace near a singularity, they’d be stuck in a time-differential until they could escape into hyperspace again. If they were lucky, they’d only lose few hours of real time– maybe a few days. If they weren’t, they could lose a few months, a few years or even get caught in the well. Hera’s spine chilled at the thought: trapped in a single moment of panic stretched out for millennia until they were crushed into sub-atomic quarks in the infinite black.

 _No_ , Hera thought and gritted her teeth. She wouldn’t let her mind spiral down that path. She shook out her lekku and settled herself more firmly into her seat.

At the bottom edge of the viewport, pale yellow patches pulsed through the green. The tremors intensified. Hera relaxed her elbows. She needed to stay loose, but with her arms shaking up to the shoulders, that was easier said than–

_BANG!_

The _Ghost_ jerked and the ship pitched forward like it was running aground. Hera heaved the controls back just as a blood-red stain ripped open up in front of them. Kanan braced himself against the console and unleashed a curse. Crimson lights closed over the viewport and swallowed up the blue of hyperspace in their maw.

“Dorsal stabilizers!” Hera yelled as the _Ghost_ groaned against gravity’s gnashing teeth.

Kanan flipped the switches. All round them the fuselage rattled furiously. Their forward tilt slowed to a grinding halt, but the shaking only intensified. The vibrations traveled up Hera’s arms into her teeth. Her lekku jittered and chafed against the back of the chair.

“Stabilizers are at full power!” Kanan shouted over the clamor.

“Keep them that way,” she snarled just as a yellow warning light blazed to life on the console.

Before Hera could give the command, Kanan hit the light and was scrolling through diagnostics displays impossibly fast. He abruptly stopped the flying lists with a finger and entered a short series of commands. The flashing light went dark and he muttered a half-hearted exaltation before returning to the navigation. He erased his first list of escape vectors and replaced them with three new possibilities recalibrated to their current position.

Up ahead, the crimson undulations flickered between orange and red. In the boiling rainbow, the shifts in vector were invisible to Hera’s eyes, but not to her hands. The _Ghost_ tugged port and aft. She pushed and tilted the yoke as the angry colors flickered ravenously.

_Mrrrr! Mrrrr! Mrrrr! Mrrrr!_

Red lights flashed on every console. Kanan slapped a control and cut the noise, leaving the panicked lights to blink in every corner. He jumped to the rear tactical station. Hera could hear the chatter of buttons even over the shaking of the durasteel framework. What was going on? What was wrong with her ship?

The _Ghost_ tipped forward again, listing starboard. She fought against the attack, but to little effect. She had lost control of the ship!

“Kanan!” she called over her shoulder.

The cockpit shook wildly. The deck jumped under Hera’s feet. A deep whir joined the rattling cacophony. “Got it!” Kanan shouted.

Hera tugged on the controls. They were hers again. She braced her feet on the bottom of the console and heaved. Her back arched with the effort and the waves of gravitational energy streamed around the _Ghost_. A halo of iridescent gold shimmered on the edges of the viewport and Hera saw her chance.

“Get ready to cut the stabilizers on my command,” she said.

Kanan was back in the co-pilot’s seat, even as it rattled fiercely beneath him. His hands hovered over the switches. Hera watched the golden fingers at the edge of her vision shift to umber-laced scarlet. When yellow threads started to dance through the heated tones she shouted, “Now!”

Kanan cut the stabilizers and Hera twisted the control yoke until it was pressed as far as the mechanics would allow. The ship rolled to port and the jewel-shaped speck that was the _Ghost_ corkscrewed through hyperspace like a blaster bolt. Waves of red, yellow and orange spiraled around the viewport in a dizzying coil. Kanan braced himself against the console hand and foot as Hera hit the afterburners, a miniscule addition to their super-light speed, but she needed every ounce of power she could get. As the world blurred, she kept her eyes on the terminus. She wouldn’t lose her ship. Not now. Not to this.

Pulse by pulse the dancing lights lost their psychedelic hues. Red shifted into orange and orange into yellow. The _Ghost’s_ plasteel joints quieted their chatter as the viewport filled with the steady churn of cold yellow. It sputtered against emerging greens and blues.

Hera moved the yoke up and eased the spiral. As soon as the ship was level again, Kanan opened his eyes. He leaned his weight against the console with one arm, pushed down a dry gulp and scrolled through the sensor data. “We’re almost out of the wells’ influence.” His voice was raw and on the edge of cracking. “Just another few minutes.”

Hera’s jaw was too tightly clenched for her to even nod in affirmation. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the window the entire time, neither had she taken her hands off the yoke. It had indents from her fingers in it, now. Or was it her fingers that had been indented?

Yellow to green, green to teal. Like a stain being washed away, the gravitational rainbow disappeared from the fabric of hyperspace. The last traces of dark green fled before the ship and the familiar blue welcomed the _Ghost_ back into its fold. As the colors vanished completely, the rattling receded until only the roar of hyperspace and the hum of the engines remained. On the console, the proximity sensor went dark.

Kanan gave his screen one more scrutinizing look before leaning back in his seat and pressing his hands to his face. “We’re through,” he said.

For the first time since she’d taken the pilot’s seat, Hera noticed that her breathing was quick and shallow. She closed her eyes and took in one deep lung-full of air after another. Her lekku trembled behind her shoulders. Finger by finger, she peeled her hands from the yoke and let them drop to her lap, curled like tortured animals.

“You okay?” Kanan’s voice was stronger now, but still held the rough edge of adrenaline.

Hera laughed humorlessly and labored to press the heels of her hands into her eyes. Her fingers were numb. Her eyes burned. Her jaw ached. Her shoulders were permacrete. “Run a full diagnostic,” she said. Her voice sounded detached from her body. “I want to know if anything got knocked loose. And we need to check the cargohold. I’m sure it’s a mess.”

“Sure thing, boss,” he said. His chair squeaked, and then, “Do you want some caf… or something?”

In a pantomime of Kanan’s earlier posture she leaned her head back on top of her chair and closed her eyes. “After that? I need a massage,” she complained.

Kanan gave a tired chuckle. “First a kiss and now a massage?” She could hear the smile in his voice. It was a welcome contrast to the intensity of the past few minutes.

“In your dreams, Kanan Jarrus,” she smirked without looking up.

Kanan’s chair squeaked again as he stood up. His voice was dripping with honey. “Every day with you is a dream, Captain Syndulla.”

Hera managed a weak smile and settled a little more into her chair. When there were no more smart remarks she opened her eyes. Kanan was gone.

“Kanan?”

“Right here.” Despite what she had said he was on his way back from the galley with two cups. He handed one to Hera and leaned against the center console. He rubbed his face again before taking a sip.

Hera pressed the warm cup into her palms. The heat seeped into her stiff fingers until she could feel the tendons softening back into shape.

Kanan’s eyes were on her when he pulled the cup away from his mouth. His dark eyebrows pulled together. “You look tired,” he said.

“Thanks,” she laughed weakly and took a drink. It turned out that the month-old caf’s only virtue was its warmth. She knew they should have stopped for provisions before taking off. She’d just been so eager to get on with this “simple job.” So much for that.

Kanan set his cup down on the console. “So, about that massage…” he said.

Hera gulped down the mouthful of caf. “Not a chance,” she said. “I don’t need– Wait. What are you doing?”

But Kanan was already behind her with his hands on her shoulders. “My captain needs a massage, I give her a massage,” he said smoothly.

“I was just making a joke-” Hera’s words fell dead in her mouth, turned to empty air by the tremendous sensation suddenly flowing through her. Kanan’s hands pressed into her shoulders with unhurried pressure, kneading them like unformed clay. His thumbs moved to stroke the muscles on either side of her spine and she sucked in a short breath.

“You okay?” he asked lessening the pressure but not stopping.

“It hurts, but it feels good,” she said.

“That’s because you have excess mineral deposits built up in your muscles. I’ll see if I can’t get those worked out.”

Hera wanted to protest, but the soothing pressure was irresistible. It overrode all of the ridiculous objections her mind was coming up with. Kanan worked over her shoulders and neck with methodical care. He found each muscle and tendon and, one at a time, coaxed them into butter. Each tensed area released under his hands and never wanted to move again.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” Hera mumbled, then added, “Never mind. I probably don’t want to know.”

Kanan chuckled. “I took a job as a masseur on a resort planet one time. I made a killing at that job.”

Hera could see why. The vertebrae in her neck popped gently from her skull to her collar. That was the last straw. She let her head fall back over the top of the headrest with her lekku hanging down to either side. When she opened her eyes to slits, she saw Kanan staring off into hyperspace, working away on her shoulders as if it were the most natural thing in the galaxy.

Twenty minutes later, Hera sat up with a jolt. Memories of colored lights, shaking controls and Kanan’s hands on her shoulders assaulted her mind all at once. She glanced around the cockpit. The ship’s controls blinked calmly to the _Ghost’s_ familiar hum. Everything was quiet and the half-drunk cups of caf were gone, including the one Kanan must have taken from her hands.

A few taps on the display revealed that Kanan had already started a full diagnostic of the ship. The computer was only a quarter of the way through, but everything so far was in the green. A glance at the chrono revealed that they were four hours into their delivery run. Five more to go.

She took her time getting up, stretched her back and rolled her shoulders. They felt completely remade. Hiring a drifter with a hundred random skills was definitely paying off.

That was when a series of bangs sounded from the cargo hold. Hera cocked an ear-cone to the hatch at the back of the cockpit. Kanan’s voice shouted something she couldn’t make out, but the tone was clear: something was wrong.

She flew to the ladder. The squeal of metal containers echoed through the cramped room. She dodged around the towers of crates, now leaning precariously in every direction, and weaved her way towards his voice.

Kanan burst around the last corner, bare-chested and waving his shirt in his hands. “Lousy kriffin’-!” He flung the shirt to the ground and stomped on it with his bare feet until it was completely smashed and flattened into the corner.

As abrupt as the situation was, Hera had trouble concentrating on the crumpled garment. Her eyes were on Kanan’s exposed torso. She’d always known that he was in excellent physical shape– that was no secret– but she’d never seen him without his shirt on and what she saw now was… distracting. His back was comprised of taught muscles with his spine a deep valley that disappeared beneath his belt. Both the hard lines of his chest and the ribbed expanse of his stomach were covered with a fine hair, the sight of which made Hera’s fingertips tingle.

“Tiny little monsters!” Kanan bit at each word like it was a curse. He splayed the toes on his right foot, jumped to the other and did the same with his left. He finally noticed Hera. His untied hair brushed by his shoulders and over his eyes in thick, dark strands. Twi’leks didn’t have hair, but Hera had always understood the allure. Hair could be beautiful, sort of the human version of lekku. What she had never expected was for it to be this attractive on a male.

“Song mites.” Kanan curled his lip, misinterpreting her wide eyes as concern.

Hera was slow to reply. “Song mi- SONG MITES?” she yelled.

Kanan made a disgusted face. “I’ll give you two guesses where we picked them up, but you’ll only need one.” And he gestured grandly at the jumbled crates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the completed third chapter.


	4. Unwanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanan and Hera discuss what to do about their hitchhikers and Kanan struggles with his connection to the Force.

“Song mites” were the most despised words of any starship captain, ranking in third place right behind “hyperdrive failure” and “life-support fluctuation.” They were an infestation on par with a disease, feeding on ambient dust particles, breeding, and invading every cold metal crevice they could find. In addition to being disgusting, six-legged specks the size of a grain of rice, song mites were mildly toxic, causing rashes if they made contact with the skin of most species. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was what they did when their numbers grew large enough to form a colony or two… or seven… or seventy.

Kanan and Hera retreated to the catwalk overlooking the cargo hold. He leaned over the railing, clutching his shirt in one hand. They held their breaths and listened. The hum of the _Ghost’s_ hyperdrive reverberated smoothly through the ship like a heartbeat. But beneath the mechanical whirrs was another sound, a low whine rising and falling with the ship’s rhythms.

_…wiiiinn… wiiiinn… wiiiinn…_

Kanan’s lip curled over his teeth. He had encountered song mites once before. A tramp vessel headed from one backwater system to another had had a mad case of them– and the captain had had a mad case of not caring. The ship was home to billions of the miniscule monsters. The noise they made was so nerve-shattering that all the passengers had stuffed their various audial receptors with scraps of cloth and huddled down with their hands over their heads for the journey. Not that it had done much good. Nothing could block out that sound completely. Kanan remembered slumping against a wall, exhausted from the hellacious noise, only to have it crumble into metallic dust behind him thanks to the vibratory damage. That’s when the mites had gotten into his clothes and given him a vicious rash alongside an increase in volume. The weeks following Order 66 notwithstanding, the two days he’d spent on that freighter had been some of the longest of Kanan’s life.

Now hearing the whispers of that unbearable noise oscillate through the cargo hold of the _Ghost_ , he looked at Hera. “We have to kill them.”

Hera’s eyes widened a fraction as if she was picturing Kanan burning down the _Ghost_ along with the noisome pests. “First thing’s first,” she said calmly. “Are they contained to the cargo area?”

He glowered down on the shamble of containers. “They should be. If they’d hitched a ride on us from this morning we’d be itching all over by now.”

“Well, that means they’re contained at least,” she said, but her tone wasn’t comforting.

Kanan frowned and shook his head. “They must have woken up when we passed those neutron stars. Song mites love radiation. That’s why they’re attracted to ships.”

“So they were sleeping with the cargo the whole time.” Hera set her hip against the railing and gestured at the slanting towers and skewed passageways. “We’re going to have to give the whole ship a bacta bath, aren’t we? There goes our paycheck.”

Kanan’s eyes went sharp as he stroked his beard. “Maybe not,” he said.

Hera turned to face him, but her eyes soon returned to the cargo hold. “What do you have in mind?”

“What if we only gave the cargo hold a bath?” he asked. “A really _cold_ one?”

Hera lifted an eyebrow. “Blow the airlock? It’d be too risky in hyperspace, but once we get to Husera we could crack the door. The cargo will get shifted, but that’s not really an issue anymore.” She rubbed the back of her fist over her forehead. “There’s not enough atmo in the system to replenish this room before we land. We’ll have to clean it up planet-side before we make the delivery.”

“It’s better than the alternative,” he said cringing as a long _wiiiiinnn_ rose and fell like a far off siren.

With a huffed sigh, Hera said, “In the meantime we’ll seal off the hold and hope nothing else crazy happens for the next five hours.”

“Here’s hoping.” Kanan tossed his shirt down into the mess, resigning it to its destiny to be jettisoned into the darkness of space. Back in the cockpit, he locked the hatch. When he was sure it was secure, he stepped behind Hera who was already in the pilot’s seat. The _Ghost’s_ schematic was laid out on her datapad, dark red lines over a black screen. Green numbers were scattered across the diagram, mostly centering on the cargo area.

“Are those the entry points into the hold?” he asked.

She nodded. “Just sealing everything up.”

He pointed to one of the letters on the starboard side. “I didn’t know there was a conduit there.”

“It’s the secondary depressurization valve,” she said. “For fires.”

“The primary valve wouldn’t handle it?” He traced a finger along the mysterious conduit to where it terminated just below the docking terminal.

“Not if the primary valve’s been damaged or blocked,” she said. Hera entered a command on her datapad and reconfirmed it as it appeared on the pilot’s console.

“Looks like there’s still a lot I have to learn about your ship,” he said with a smile.

“Looks like,” she said absentmindedly, entered in the next location and confirmed the closure. This time Kanan heard a soft click somewhere in the mechanics under their feet.

He pointed to another number. “What’s this one here?”

Hera expanded the view into a more detailed graphic. A series of wires led from the cargo hold to the primary power grid, but only after making a long loop towards the front of the ship.

Leaning forward to get a better look, he asked, “You can access the cargo hold controls from your quarters?”

“Uh-huh,” she answered with a hint of pride. “Just a little insurance my droid and I installed. You never know when you’re going to have unwanted visitors.”

“Like song mites?”

“More like intrud–” Hera turned to look at him and stopped. Her face was close. Closer than he expected. Her green eyes widened a fraction before she turned away, noisily clearing her throat.

“Sorry,” Kanan murmured. He straightened his back and pushed a loose hair out of his eyes, suddenly very aware that he didn’t have a shirt on.

Hera lifted her datapad and stared at it like it held the secrets to the universe. “No… It’s, um–” she blinked, then shook out her lekku. “It’s for intruders– stowaways– things like that.”

It took a second for Kanan’s thoughts to realign. “The door control?”

“It’s more than just the door,” she said. “I can control the lights, the ramp, the force field– almost everything.”

His brain was starting to catch up. “Wait. So you could blow somebody out of the airlock from your bedroom if you wanted to?”

Hera nodded, swiped her finger along the schematic and confirmed it on the pilot’s display. A series of muffled clangs announced the sealing of another conduit. When she didn’t say anything more, Kanan rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand.

“Tired?”

He opened his eyes just in time to see her glance at him over her shoulder.

“How could you tell?” He flashed a drained smile at her back.

“We’ve got five hours to go, give or take,” she said to her datapad. “I want to finish this up, so I’ll take the next shift. You can get some sleep if you want.”

Kanan peered over at the co-pilot’s display. “The diagnostic’s at thirty percent. All green. Wake me up if anything comes up?”

Hera’s response was a beat slow. “You got it,” she said.

Kannan nodded to himself and exited through the back of the cockpit. Halfway through the darkened door to his cabin, Hera’s voice interrupted his retreat. “Thanks again,” she said.

He leaned back and cocked a sleepy eyebrow.

“For the massage,” she explained, half turned around in her chair. As he watched, her eyes drifted down to his chest and then darted back to his face. Kanan couldn’t help a little smile from pulling at the corner of his mouth. He pushed back a wayward strand of hair, running his hand over the top of his head. It was a simple movement he knew would show off the muscles in his arm and stomach.

“Any time,” he said.

The door hushed shut and enclosed Kanan in darkness. Not bothering to hit the lights, he settled on the edge of his bunk and decompressed his lungs. As he pulled at his boots, he thought back on that morning, on Hera’s face when she’d asked him to kiss her, on the way she’d stumbled on her words when he’d come too close, and on how she’d tried not to stare at him while his shirt was off. It’d taken three months, but he’d finally worn her down.

A sly smile spread across his lips, then slipped just as quickly.

No, that wasn’t right. It hadn’t been anything he’d done that had brought Hera closer. All of his suave lines, lingering gazes and fleeting touches had passed over her like clouds over a plasteel hull. It hadn’t been until he’d stopped making passes at her that she’d started to warm up to him back on Gorse, and that was just in the professional sense. As soon as he’d become her crew he’d dropped the advances altogether. And look what was happening now. Hera was a mysterious woman, unlike any he’d ever met before. It was one of things he loved the most about her.

Kanan froze halfway through throwing his second boot into the corner. Footwear poised over his head, his blood ran cold. Had he really just thought that word? He forced out a laugh. No, of course not. It was just hyperbole.

Kanan settled back on his bunk with one arm behind his head and cleared his mind of all those over-analytical thoughts. Overthinking things wasn’t his style anymore. Whatever was happening with Hera was a natural progression to their relationship. Maybe things would go further, maybe they wouldn’t. Of course, he was hoping for the former, but…

His pleasant smile faded for the second time as his eyebrows drew closer together.

Hera had been clear when he’d come aboard: _Not a traveling companion. Crew._ Actually, those had been his words. And those words had been the law of the galaxy… up until today, when Hera had broken them. He thought back, wondering if something had changed in the past few days, if he’d done something or said something, or if something had changed for her, but there was nothing. As far as he could tell, they’d just been doing their jobs as usual. He was having a good time seeing the galaxy next to the smartest, most gorgeous revolutionary he never thought he’d meet, much less join up with. Not that he was officially part of the burgeoning rebellion Hera was trying to foster, he was just…

Kanan groaned and rolled onto his side. He was doing it again already: thinking too much. The annoying habit might have trained him to read out situations faster than the average roustabout, but it had tortured him as a child, and old habits were hard to kill. This was the first time he’d found himself slipping back into them since coming abroad the _Ghost_. Probably the fault of the song mites, bringing up bad memories from an even worse time.

A long breathe in settled him into his bunk. He released the cacophony of thoughts with a slow exhale. Two more deep breathes in and out and the noise drifted further into the darkness. Kanan focused on breathing. His muscles relaxed under him. This wasn’t meditating. He never meditated anymore. This was relaxation and brain management, nothing else.

Minutes slipped by. The ship hummed innocuously, sending minute reverberations into the bunk. All around him, the walls vibrated at a low, sonorous timbre. Close to the ceiling, eddies swirled in the corners, formed by the life-support system’s constant currents. Under the floor, energy pulsed through electrical conduits from one end of the ship to the other with a sharp crackle. Hell, Kanan was even aware of the dull roar of hyperspace rolling against the hull.

Frustrated, he flopped onto his back. He should have known that the second he got those irritating thoughts out of his head the Force would be waiting to take their place. Damn omnipresence connection was always popping up at the most irritating times– like when he was trying to get some sleep. Kanan threw an arm across his eyes. He just needed to let it roll over him. If he didn’t interact with it, it would eventually leave him alone.

While the noises of the cabin faded to the back of his brain, Kanan let his awareness drift. Like a strand of spider’s silk caught in a breeze, he went where the Force took him, but didn’t surrender to it. First it took him to the roaring heat of the light-speed engines, then to the song mites skittering between the crates. The galley was empty, bare of both people and food. Next, his consciousness wafted to the cockpit where a familiar presence bumped against his own. It was solid as permacrete, with a wall of defenses to rival a military complex.

Kanan’s mouth twitched in a smile. Hera was right where he’d left her in the pilot’s seat. He couldn’t tell what it was she was doing, but her mind was absorbed in the task. Her attention flickered, there was the passing sensation of worry, and then she was focused again. Warmth flooded through Kanan alongside a rush of excitement. No, it was more like… anticipation, fire-bright, giving him courage. It drew him in, closer and closer, opening up a new world to him that stretched out further than he could see. Hera’s bright light in the Force reached out with welcoming arms that stung like fire.

Kanan resisted. He pushed against the Force and willed its languid drift in another direction. After a moment, Hera’s presence glided away and he was left with a hole in his chest that rumbled like a sleeping volcano turning over in its sheets. He pushed the feeling down and was immediately assaulted by an eruption of images. Dark red-browns and heavy shadows swarmed into his mind. Hauntingly familiar trees stood black against a line of far mountains. Rough robes shifted in the light of a flickering fire. And soldiers marched forward without orders to stop.

The dark cabin’s ambient lights flickered once and Kanan shuddered. He curled into himself like a fist as sleep took him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the completed fourth chapter.


	5. Emergency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanan has a nightmare, surprises Hera and then fights off an infestation of song mites threatening to destroy the _Ghost_ from the inside.

The freighter’s wall panels were dingy and gray from time and neglect. Worn-out metal grating clanged under Kanan’s feet as he followed the curved passageway, far too long for this kind of ship. To either side passed closed doors, sealed and silent. He glanced at their controls, but didn’t stop. He had to hurry, but he couldn’t remember why.

Finally he came to a bulkhead scorched and scraped with blaster-burns and footprints. On the other side, music pulsed with a heavy bass. But behind him the passageway was silent. Or was it? He strained his ear. The noise was faint, but unmistakable: the stamp of boots in formation, growing closer with every beat.

Kanan hit the control and disappeared behind the door into a crowded cantina. Dim lights swallowed him up with the press of bodies, glowing yellow and pink in the haze of sweat and smoke. A cornucopia of species jammed together in the wide space, some dancing casually to the music, others holding brightly colored cocktails and thick-handled mugs of ale. Kanan wove between them as he dodges legs, arms and tendrils. He had to keep moving.

Finally reaching the far side of the room, he leaned against the wall and wiped the sweat from his forehead. No one paid him any attention as he looked back on the crowd. Over the bobbing heads he could see two Theelin females on a narrow stage. Their spots flashed under the lights as they swayed to the music. Kanan glanced once towards the door and saw that it was still closed. He cocked a smile.

A serving droid rolled by and Kanan snatched an ale from its tray, turning his back before it could try to charge him. No sooner had he taken a long swig than his eyes passed over the booths lining the walls, searching for a place to invite the Theelins back to. Most tables were packed with partiers clicking away in their native languages or laughing in great, whooping guffaws. But the first one– the one closest to him– was empty. Keeping one eye on the dancers, Kanan sidled up to the edge and looked down. The ale mug slipped from his fingers and shattered against the floor.

A woman was slumped against the table, face-down. A rough-woven cloak draped over her shoulders and two black loops of braided hair reflected the pulses of light. He reached out for her shoulder, but no sooner had his fingers brushed the coarse fabric than he jerked them back, stumbling away and slipping on the spilled beer. A hand dropped onto his shoulder and Kanan jumped away. When he spun around, it was to face a hammer-headed Ithorian offering him another ale, smiles plastered across his twin mouths. Tongue petrified in his throat, Kanan could only shake his head jerkily from side to side as he backed away.

That was when he heard it again: the marching of boots drawing ever closer. His eyes grazed over the motionless woman slumped over on the dirty cantina table, past the smiling Ithorian pushing the heavy glass at him again, back to the closed door where the clank of armor was almost as loud as the music.

Kanan bolted. He pushed past the Ithorian and turned in a full circle, searching for a glimmer of light that would indicate another exit. What he found instead was that the walls of the cantina had become great, arching windows, stretching up into a dome like a cathedral. The star-punctured blackness of space gaped beyond the glassteel, marred by a triangular shape looming large overhead like a hawk watching a rabbit hole. Before Kanan’s eyes, flashes of red and green fire arched down towards the windows. The cantina shook, the patrons stumbled and then continued on like before. No one spared the Star Destroyer so much as a glance.

The sky light up again and floor rocked under another barrage from the Imperial turbo lasers. This time Kanan was knocked to one knee. As he picked himself up off the dirty floor he caught a flash of green in the crowd. Someone in there was moving fast through the tightly pack bodies towards the windows.

Just then the windows flashed white-yellow. The cantina shook violently and Kanan turned away to keep from being blinded. When he opened his eyes he was facing the woman on the table again. This time he noticed the pool of dark blood gathered beneath her feet. It was only when the door burst open that Kanan was able to tear his eyes away from the thick, stagnant liquid.

On the far side of the room, the door had been kicked in and waves of white armor poured into the cantina. The white helmets’ top fins and narrow black eyes were stark and clear-cut among the confusion of the crowd. The troopers pushed into the throng as far as they could, and when the press of bodies wouldn’t let them go any farther they raised their blasters.

Ice in his blood, Kanan drew his blaster just as the crowd surged forward. He fought against the stampede and searched again for a way out. But the only way out was the way in.

All around him, creatures cried out in a mixed garble of screams as blasters screeched their plasma. One of the Theelin dancers took a smoking shot in her stomach as the other crumbled against the window, covering her head and screaming in wide-mouthed terror.

The room lit up and shook again under another barrage from the Star Destroyer’s turbo-laser. The troopers quickly regained their footing and continued mowing down the partiers in controlled bursts of fire. Their victims dropped to the ground like puppets with their strings cut.

In the chaos, the same flash of green caught Kanan’s attention, now squeezed somewhere between the panicking beings and the arching window. Sure that this person knew the way out, he grabbed at the crowd, pulling beings out of his way, but he was too slow. The green slipped in and out of view as the throng jostled, trapped between the troopers and the Star Destroyer. Kanan raised his blaster over his head, but couldn’t get a shot

The troopers closed in. The sliver of green had almost disappeared, crushed in the press of the slaughterhouse.

Kanan roared and hurled himself onto the mob.

The troopers took aim as the Star Destroyer fired again.

And the room lit up brighter than a hundred suns.

Kanan exploded out of bed, his bare feet slapping against the floor as he ground to a sudden halt. He turned a circle, taking in quick gulps of air that made his chest heave. His face snapped left and right. Where were the troopers? Where was…?

He spotted his boots discarded in the corner and a used towel at the basin. One of his old shirts hung halfway out of a canvas bag on the floor. He whipped back his sweat-soaked hair and then shivered, suddenly cold. He took one step back and then another. His hands were trembling at his sides.

The darkened room was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. It wasn’t Mygeeto. Or Port Haven. Or Gorse.

Kanan hissed between his teeth and pressed a hand against his forehead harder and harder. His brain was an electrical storm of shifting shadows and half-remembered dreams, all mixed up with forgotten memories, and all of it tainted by an uninvited, underlying hum that made his lip curl.

Just then, a whooping alarm seared through the room and every tendon in his body snapped taught. His eyes flew to the outline of the door.

The _Ghost_?

Hera!

He smacked the control, careened into the hallway and into the cockpit. Every proximity alarm and anomaly alert was flashing like lights in a night club. A familiar set of green lekku swayed in the pilot’s seat. Hera was flipping switches and mashing buttons like mad. “C’mon! C’mon!”

Kanan’s feet thundered to a halt just behind her. She turned back, her lip pulled up in a snarl that evaporated as soon as her eyes dropped to Kanan’s side. He followed her stare and saw it: his blaster, fully charged, safety off and in his hand.

“What th–” she began, but her words were swept away by a fresh wail of alarms. She gave him a cutting look and turned back around in her chair. Kanan slid into the co-pilot’s seat and wedged the blaster into the corner off to the side.

“What’s the situation?” his voice croaked.

Hera glanced tensely at the weapon. She looked like she was about to say something, but a white light blinked to life on her console and she smashed it with her fist. “The hyperspace sub-buffer’s offline. We’re flying without a destination.”

“What? How could that happen?” Kanan said and punched up the navigation controls.

“I don’t know,” she bit.

“You don’t think the, um…” He blinked hard and gave his head a shake. “The song mites got to it? I thought we cut them off.”

“So did I,” she said tersely.

The nav-computer was up. Kanan’s eyes flashed over the readouts as he ran his finger down the screen. It was still trembling slightly, and he curled it quickly back into his fist.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “It’d take them weeks to do this sort of damage. It’s got to be something else.” The ship’s status reports were a mess. The _Ghost_ was safely flying through hyperspace for now but without the sub-buffer it wouldn’t know when to exit into realspace. The situation was worse than just undershooting or overshooting their target. They could end up exiting too close to a planet or into the center of a star. He flipped through the relays, trying to reset them, but each one failed in turn. He gave a growl of frustration.

“The relays aren’t responding.”

“I know,” Hera said. “I’m trying to activate the bypass, but it’s not working, either. Nothing is getting through.”

A new alarm sounded from the tactical console behind them. Kanan jumped up and shut off the noise. He squinted at the readout. “The starboard external coolant is in danger of rupturing,” he said.

“That’s not the worst thing,” Hera groused half to herself.

“It’s in danger or rupturing _into_ the ship.”

“Well, that’s a lot worse.”

Kanan pulled his hands into fists and opened them again when he was sure the shaking had finally stopped. “I’m going down there and fix it.”

Without another word he made for the storage bin the galley where they kept the hazmat suits. He detested these things; they were hot, uncomfortable and hard to move in, but he was used to working in them thanks to all of the hazardous jobs he’d done in the past.

Sealing the hood to the shoulders, Kanan tested the comm. “Specter One to Specter Two.”

The speaker crackled in his ear. “What are you doing?” He could practically hear her eyebrow lifting at the speaker.

“What do you think?” he asked. “I’m fixing the coolant before it ruptures.”

“But the only access port is in the cargo hold.”

“And that’s why I put on my very best for the occasion.”

Kanan stepped into the center junction where the X and Y-axis hallways of the ship met at the heart of the _Ghost_. Hera twisted around in her seat and stared at the red-orange hermetically sealed suit and black-out visor. Kanan opened up his arms to show off his new outfit, then hefted a toolbox.

She sighed and pressed a button. “Be careful,” she said into the comm.

“Thanks,” his voice crackled back at him from the cockpit.

Kanan knelt by the rear access hatch and sprayed down the edges with industrial disinfectant cleaner, hoping the intense chemicals would either kill or deter any song mites in the area. He scuttled down the ladder and closed the hatch behind him, spraying it again as he sealed it shut.

The cargo hold was dark except for the ambient emergency lights that outlined the floor and ceiling. Towers of cargo stood like decaying monoliths, leaving the room a maze of twisting corners and black shadows. Kanan flicked on the lamp mounted on the hood of his hazmat suit and the world took a step up from unsettlingly creepy to just plain eerie. Then…

_…wwIIIINN… wwIIIINN… wwIIINN…_

The noise was immense. The sonorous rise and fall of the song mite’s melody was ten times stronger than it had been only an hour ago. Their grating whines bounced off the hard surfaces and mixed with their own reverb, creating a teeth-shattering cacophony of high-pitched screeching.

_…wWIIIINN… wWIIIINN… wWIIIINN..._

Kanan ground his teeth together. The toolbox was shaking in his hand so hard that the hydrospanners clanked against eachother like they were in an earthquake. His nerves were shot and now this kriffing racket was already getting to him. It would have been nice if he could have stuffed his ears with something before coming down, but he needed to hear Hera over the comm. Speaking of which…

“How does it look down there?” Her melodic voice was only audible because it was literally next to his ear.

Kanan dropped to the floor and examined the cargo containers up close. None of them were damaged, but dark specks clustered in every crevice. When Kanan’s shadow passed over them, the mites stopped their song long enough to scuttle away, then started up again as soon as they had formed a new congregation.

“It’s song mites alright,” he said over the shrill wail and hoped he wasn’t speaking too loudly. “There are so many of them in here, there’s no way that Ithorian guy didn’t know about them.”

“You think he did this on purpose?”

“I think they’re the reason why he retired early and sold off his stock.”

Hera was quiet. “We’ll worry about that later,” she said. “Where are you with the access panel?”

Kanan made for the starboard side of the cargo hold. Predictably, the panel was behind a tower of containers, but there was just enough room for him the squeeze next to the wall. With the panel off, he unclipped the light from his suit and shined it into the _Ghost’s_ interior. The problem was clear: a long, black crack in the purple piping, a simple fix with the right equipment.

“No sign of mites on the coolant system,” he said. “But the pipe’s in bad shape. Probably from the ride we took through those neutron stars. Any luck with the sub-buffer?”

“No, not yet.” Another alarm sounded over the comm. There was a dull thud and Hera grunted in frustration. “The relays are still unresponsive. We’ll have to reset them manually.”

“I’ll look at them, next. You stay in the cockpit and make sure nothing else goes wrong.”

Kanan gooped sealant onto the crack. It puffed up from contact with the air and settled down into a hard, flat shell. He repeated the process twice, increasing the area each time. After a second, he pulled out a wrench and gave the patch a few taps. Into his comm he shouted, “Pipe is fixed. How are the levels?”

“Stabilizing, but the pressure’s still low. Any chance you missed a spot?”

Kanan scraped the top of his hazmat hood on the edge of the dark opening as he poked in his head. A few dark specks rained down, knocked from their perches. He made a face before reaching in with the light and an aerosol spray. The spray would fill the space with an inert, colored gas. If there was another leak, the mist would show him where it was. Kanan aimed and stopped. His eyes widened as they took in his hands, now crawling with song mites.

“Hera, I don’t think this is your average infestation.”

Another pause, then, “What do you mean?”

“They’re everywhere.” And it wasn’t an exaggeration. The walls, the containers, the floor… everything was crawling with the black monstrosities. And the sound was getting louder by the minute.

_…wWIIIINN!!… wWIIIINN!!… wWIIINN!!…_

“How did Ajha get an infestation this large?” her voice crackled, fighting against the noise.

Kanan’s mind flashed back to the vortex of shifting colors, Hera’s hands tight on the yoke and her eyes steady on the spiral of radioactive energy ripping at the _Ghost_.

“The radiation,” he said. “We went through that patch that almost pulled us out of hyperspace. It must have woken them up– all of them.”

Kanan ducked back into the access port and sprayed. The pinkish mist drifted gently and then began to eddy in two spots. He tapped on the pipe with the can and a dozen shadows scurried for cover. He sprayed down the space with the disinfectant and followed it up with three layers of sealant. With the access panel back in place, he snaked his way through the maze of containers.

“I don’t know that we can wait to vent the cargo hold.” His ears were ringing so badly that he was barely able to register his own voice.

“Well, we can’t just open up in the middle of hyperspace. Especially not now.” Hera’s voice came through like she was under water, but it still held a sharp edge. This was serious.

“Then we have to drop out as soon as possible,” he shouted against the noise.

“Still flying blind, in case you forgot.”

“I’m already on my way to the relays. As soon as they’re back on-line, be ready to reset the sub-buffer and drop us out. I’ll take care of the rest.”

From three months of working on the _Ghost_ , Kanan knew that the jammed relays were on the other side of the ship, under the living quarters. There was a narrow maintenance corridor that gave access to them and a whole lot of other important stuff in the dark bowels of the _Ghost_. He activated the repulsor on the bottom container of one of the precarious towers. It wheezed to life and scraped off the floor. Kanan shouldered it out of the way with a strained grunt. Behind the wall it was like standing on a tall building looking down on a busy intersection. The song mites swarmed in congested lines in all directions, scrambling for cover, even if it was underneath another mite. Kanan shivered as a chill of disgust crawled up his spine. He shook his ears against the song bouncing off the hard walls and straight into his brain.

_WWIIIINN!!!WWIIIINN!!!WWIIINN!!!_

The maintenance corridor was lit by the same icy blue emergency lights that outlined every walkway on the ship. It was a cramped space and Kanan crawled forward on his hands and knees, pushing the toolbox ahead of him. There were mites here, too, and he was doubtlessly carrying new colonists on his hazmat suit. But he didn’t have time to worry about that. If he didn’t get the ship fixed, this “easy job” was going to be their last.

The relays were in sight. He shoved the toolbox forward and squeezed through after it, but the box bumped against another panel and it dropped down with a barely audible clatter. Behind it, tiny lights glowed a familiar yellow and pink.

Suddenly, Kanan was back in the cantina from his dream. The whine of the song mites blurred into the rise and fall of screams as the troopers slaughtered a hundred beings from a hundred planets. He snapped to cover his ears, but the hazmat hood was in the way. He couldn’t block out the sound. He couldn’t escape.

Blaster-fire. Darkness. Screaming. A woman in a rough cloak bleeding to death. He couldn’t help her. She was dead. And he had to run. And survive. And forget. But he couldn’t forget. They were coming for him. They were always coming for him.

“…anan? Wha… …ing on?”

Labored breaths pushed their way in and out of his mouth. He cracked open an eye.

“Kan… … you cop…”

Breathe fogging against the visor, he pushed himself onto his elbows. As he grit his teeth together, he replaced the fallen panel and hid the twinkling lights that had triggered the panic attack.

“…I’m here,” he grunted and he pulled himself forward again. “Just… had to… deal with something.”

Dim through the comm feed, Hera’s voice said, “Glad to h… … scared me.”

It was the worry in her voice more than her words that made Kanan crack a weak smile.

With another push he reached the relays, half of them jammed into the “off” position. Unceremoniously, Kanan pushed on one with all of his strength, it budged, but it wouldn’t flip over. He searched the toolbox and found what he wanted: a blunt instrument. He also found what he didn’t want: a dozen song mites huddling down in the crevices of the handle. By using the tool in this confined space he would be introducing the destructive pests right into the heart of the _Ghost_. Hera would have to vent the cargo hold and the service areas within minutes of coming out of hyperspace if they wanted the ship– wanted _themselves_ – to survive.

Kanan banged on the first relay. After five good hits it flipped over with a heavy clunk. Hera was on the comm.

“It’s working!” she said.

He grunted and hit the next one.

“…umber four… …ack online!” Her voice sounded farther away than ever and he had to strain to hear it.

The third relay kicked over with only three hits.

“Get ready!” he told Hera and _bang_. All of the relays were back on, Kanan could feel the healthy whir vibrating against his chest, even if he couldn’t hear it.

Hera’s voice was back. “… reset. Calculating… …ency drop.”

Kanan shimmed out of the cramped tunnel as fast as he could, racing as he pulling the toolbox along with him. He couldn’t leave all those tools to fly around the interior of the ship once the atmo vented.

Back in the cargo hold, he took three steps towards the ladder and stumbling to his knees. The toolbox tumbled out of his hand.

_WWWIIIIINNN!!!!!WWWIIIIINNN!!!!!WWWIIIINNN!!!!!_

The noise was now a physical force beating him down. His teeth ached inside his head. His heart jumped its rhythms, working vainly to match the song mites’ impossible melody. Kanan grabbed at his hood, but there was nothing he could do. The sound was shaking the air, vibrating his bones. Looking up, the edges of the cargo crates blurred in his vision.

A barely detectable sound pricked at his ear that he could only assume was Hera. He couldn’t hear her words, he didn’t have to; he knew what she was saying. There was a familiar bump as the _Ghost_ dropped out of hyperspace. One problem solved and one more to go.

Kanan pushed to his feet and the ladder in the other. Rung by rung, he hoisted himself to the top and pulled the industrial strength cleaner from his pocket one more time. Song mites dropped from the hatch in a revolting, squirming shower. Dead or stunned, he didn’t care and it didn’t matter. They were all about to fly a lot farther.

Shouting into the comm, he could barely hear is own voice. “I’m at the hatch. I’ve sprayed down the area and I’m going to ditch the suit. The second I’m clear, crack the door and let ‘em fly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the completed fifth chapter.


	6. Clean Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera helps Kanan wash his hair and asks him about his nightmares just before the _Ghost_ loses power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the POV switch to Hera at the beginning of this chapter. It was just too cute to rewrite!

Hera kept one hand poised over the switch that would vent the cargo hold to the vacuum of space and waited for Kanan’s signal. All around her lights were still blinking angrily, but she didn’t have time for them just yet.

She knew when Kanan opened the hatch because it was accompanied by the song mite’s screeching whine pouring into the _Ghost_ in a flood of sound. Her lekku curled and her skin puckered. The cacophony vanished and Kanan’s voice echoed down the hall. “Do it!”

Hera flipped the switch.

To an outside observer it wouldn’t look like much. A few ice crystals would form as the water in the air froze on its way out, creating a whitish cloud that quickly dispersed. A more curious sight would be of an orange-red hazmat suit and– most unusual– a green shirt. But Hera didn’t see any of it as she guided the _Ghost_ far away from the invisible cloud of space-borne mites before they could float into her ship and try to reattach themselves.

Hera’s eyes flicked between the gauges monitoring the cargo hold. The temperature dropped to nothing. Life support registered zero atmosphere. After fifty seconds the interior and exterior environments equalized. Whatever was going to get blown out into space was out there. Any stragglers that had survived the rush of wind she planned to kill with lack of oxygen and freezing temperatures, and for that she would have to give the cargo hold a good, long airing.

Even though the displays around her were blinking like a casino, Hera breathed a sigh of relief. Those other problems weren’t going anywhere for the time being. Right now she needed to check up on the hero.

As she turned the corner to the starboard hall, she found Kanan stripped down to his underwear, dousing himself with a strong-smelling chemical cleaner. The clear-purple liquid splashed onto the deck and walls leaving an astringent, slightly floral scent in its wake.

“What are you doing?” she asked holding her nose with one hand and waving away the smell with the other.

Kanan poured the cleaner on the back of his leg and rubbed it into his skin.

“Kanan?” she tried again and when he didn’t stop she shouted, “HEY!”

His head popped up. Loose hair was splayed over his forehead. “WHAT?” he said too loudly.

“WHAT ARE YOU DO-ING?” she asked in loud, slow syllables.

When he answered his voice was more subdued, but still twice the normal volume. “What does it look like? I’m making sure none of those little monsters hitched a ride on me. Would you give me a hand? I can’t get the back.” He tossed her the bottle.

Hera sprinkled the liquid between his shoulder blades as he rubbed it in. He was flexible enough to reach every spot on his back and his muscles rippled under his fingers. The pattern of freckles on his shoulders was like a map of the stars.

“Here, do my head.” He bent at the waist and flipped over his long, brown hair.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” She wrinkled her nose.

“What?” He eyed her without straightening his back.

“This is pretty strong stuff.” She pointed at the bottle and frowned.

Kanan gestured towards the hatch. “Would you rather go through that again?”

“Of course not,” she said. But she didn’t want him to lose all of his hair, either. She squeezed the mostly-empty bottle. “I have another idea. Hold on.”

Hera went to the galley and took the cleaner with her just in case Kanan tried to do something without her. A few open cabinets later and she found what she was hunting for. When she came back, Kanan raised an eyebrow at the towel draped over her shoulder and the large baking pan in her hands. It was filled with warm soapy water.

Hera knelt on the ground. “Put your head in this,” she said. “I’m going to wash out your hair.”

“Seriously?” he asked.

She pointed to the water. “Now? Before something else goes wrong?”

Kanan’s eyes shifted around the wet hallway. His voice was still too loud. “I’d feel better if we used the cleaner. That stuff kills everything.”

“This is bacta water. It’s going to do the job just fine.” She glowered and there was no saying ‘no’ to Hera when she made that face.

Kanan rolled his eyes and gave a frustrated grunt before kneeling down on the sloshy floor. Hera took off her gloves as he leaned over and dunked his head until his forehead plunked on the bottom.

“Can you breathe?”

“WHAT?”

“CAN YOU BREATHE?”

“YES.”

Hera combed her fingers through his hair from scalp to ends, searching methodically for hitch-hikers. She was still keenly aware of the various alerts going off in the cockpit, so she didn’t waste time, but she also didn’t think this was time wasted.

She had never touched hair in this way before. Each individual strand was thick and heavy, especially in the water. They floated in the ripples like delicate aquatic life. Hera turned his head and checked around one ear and then the other, tracing the lines with her fingers. His jaw twitched and relaxed as she scooped up the bacta-infused water and poured it over his neck. The liquid flowed down his head in clear rivulets that she massaged into his skin.

Kanan coughed in his throat and she remembered that he was mostly face-down in water. Taking a short, shuddering breath, she patted him on the shoulder.

“All finished,” she said clearly enough that he’d be sure to hear.

Kanan pushed to his feet, keeping his head down. The water ran off of his hair in great dripping curtains into the tray. He reached out a hand.

“Towel?”

She handed it over and he rubbed it furiously over his head while Hera stood back and waited. When he finally looked up, wet strands of hair clung to his face and made his blue eyes stand out boldly. The excess water ran down his shoulders and onto his bare chest. “Thanks, captain,” he said at closer to normal volume and she wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not.

Hera’s lekku went hot and she quickly scooped her gloves off the floor. Rubbing her nose, she turned back to the cockpit. “Take the rest to the fresher and use it to wash those chemicals off. There’s still plenty of work to do when you’re done.”

She didn’t look back as his feet slip-slapped away. Instead, her eyes drifted down to the blaster still laying under the co-pilot’s chair.

 

*  *  *

 

It took Kanan longer than he expected to join Hera in the cockpit, but when he did he was clean from head to heel, behind the ears and between the toes. It was the cleanest he’d been since Ahakista, when that idiot Dug had shoved him into the sterilizing wash as a joke. Kanan itched his ear and shook out the extra water. The bacta had restored his hearing of everything but a low hum that blended in with the _Ghost’s_ usual noises.

He slid back into the co-pilot’s chair as he finished tucking in his shirt, a blue version of the green one he’d lost to space. The viewport was mostly dark, just a few stray cosmic vapors moving slowly to port as the _Ghost_ drifted in a slow rotation, probably from the cargo hold’s decompression. With a glance at the chrono, Kanan brought up the navigation. “Husera’s close,” he said. “Just a little over three hours according to this.”

Hera didn’t look up. Her back was half-turned to him and there was an unusual stiffness to her lekku.

He glanced over her shoulder. The display showed a long list of minor electrical failures. Most were in the cargo area, but a few exterior landing lights were on it, too. They were all small repairs, but would take forever to hunt down and fix. Looked like they had their work cut out for them once they got planet-side. One of the errors towards the bottom caught his eye.

“Looks like there’s a fried conduit under the co-pilot’s station.” He squinted at the data. “Probably just an overloaded circuit, but…”

Hera reached over and turned off the display. Somehow the black screen made the cockpit feel quieter, not that it had been loud before, but this was different; this silence had weight.

Hera’s voice was flat and serious as she turned towards him. “Kanan, what is this?” she asked.

With a sense of dread, he looked down at her lap. Hera was holding a blaster in her hands. _His_ blaster.

After a few missed heart-beats, Kanan forced a laugh that wouldn’t have fooled a child. “Oops. Sorry about that. Must have dropped it in all the excitement.”

He reached out to take it, but Hera drew her hands away, keeping it out of his reach.

“You? Drop a blaster?” Her eyebrow rose in a mix of incredulity and concern.

“Yeah. I–” But he didn’t get to finish.

There was steely accusation in the set of Hera’s jaw. Her eyes were tight at the corners as she asked, “Why did you bring a blaster into my cockpit?”

“I, um…”

“This is serious. Tell me the truth.”

Kanan gaped at the weapon, his mouth open and his hands feeling suddenly empty. His mind was a jumble of incoherent thoughts, lies trying to put themselves together and refusing to fit. All the while his blood hummed in his ears as loud as the lingering damage from the song mites.

Finally, he hissed to himself and ran a hand over his damp hair. Outside the viewport, the blackness of space had become bright with clusters of white starts and colorful arcs of cosmic vapors. They were the remnants of ancient explosions as stars were born and as stars died, older than the history of the galaxy and still only a blink in the universe. Those stars had a history all their own, one of white fire and freezing black, marked with bands of radioactive colors flung wide into the cosmos to echo and sparkle until they faded into eternity, becoming invisible, but never disappearing. Never truly gone. Like so many other memories, they lingered.

“Are you okay?” Hera’s words edged out the silence, low with concern.

Kanan rubbed his face with both hands before he finally answered. “I was having a nightmare,” he said.

Hera gripped the blaster, but she kept her eyes on Kanan. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked quietly.

“Not really,” he said and sighed noisily. “I just… forgot where I was.”

When Hera didn’t speak he drew another deep breath. “I heard the alarms and I thought– I don’t know, we were under attack? I thought I– you… _we_ were in trouble and… I...”

“…did the only thing you could,” she finished for him.

Kanan’s shoulders sank a few inches. “Something like that,” he said.

“Where did you think you were?”

“I’m not sure.” He shrugged, staring out the viewport. The dream was long gone, but broad, dusty mesas still swept through his mind like a hot wind. The last red of twilight stained the horizon as it echoed with forgotten screams. He pushed them all aside with a great heave of his will. “Somewhere… else,” was all he said.

Hera’s hands tightened on the blaster, battered and worn. Like most unregistered weapons it had had a dozen owners before it found its way into Kanan’s hands. Her thumb passed over the power pack and she reached out, placing her hand on his. He glanced at it briefly. It was warm even through her gloves.

“I know there are things in your past that you don’t talk about, and they’re none of my business. But I need you to know that you’re not alone, Kanan. Sometimes, it seems like the burdens we carry– the ones that we keep buried deep down inside– get heavier with every step. Every choice we make can be haunted by the past, but living under the shadows of ghosts is no way to live at all.” Her eyes were on their hands, together, but not intertwined. “Whatever’s bothering you, I honestly don’t know if I can help you with it. But I do know that sometimes just having someone to talk to can make all the difference.” She squeezed his hand and finally met his gaze. “If you ever want to talk to me, I’m here.”

Kanan stared deeply into Hera’s eyes, blue meeting green not for the first time. Everything inside him wanted to kiss her, but not for the same reasons as before. Before he’d only been driven by attraction and lust, but now he felt something else inside of him tie itself to Hera. It was a connection he’d almost forgotten he could make and wouldn’t have recognized it he hadn’t felt it once before. This feeling was similar to what he’d felt when he was with Master Billaba: a sense of loyalty and commitment, of respect and adoration. But with Hera the feeling was deeper. It was different because he was different, and because she was different. Kanan knew the name most people would have given this feeling, but he didn’t see the need to give it a name at all. And to be honest, if he had, he would have called it “Hera.”

Still locked into the warmth of her hand and the openness of her face, Kanan drifted towards Hera. She tilted her head closer as her cheeks flushed a darker green–

And the lights went out.

A tired, digital whine swooped down the aural spectrum and took with it the higher-pitched whirrs and hums of the _Ghost_. Hera pushed to her feet and craned her neck, listening and watching as the control panels went black one by one and slowly took on the soft blue glow of the emergency lighting nested in the deep corners.

Kanan caught his forward advance by placing his elbow on the console and dropping his face into his hand.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Hera’s voice could have cut through plasteel.

“Neither can I,” Kanan mumbled.

“What was that?”

He rubbed his hand over his face and shook his head like he was shaking off water. “Nothing,” he said and stood up next to her.

The _Ghost_ was silent. The air hissing through the ventilation gave a cough at the same time that the emergency lights flickered. After half a second, both came through strong again.

Kanan poked a few buttons at the tactical station behind the pilot’s seat. The stark blue light added hard lines to his grimace. “Main power’s been severed to the interior of the ship. Looks like the engines are all on-line, but we’re on auxiliary power up here.”

“Life support?”

“Still connected.”

“Hyperdrive?”

“Fully operational and ready to go.”

Hera frowned, folding her arms. She was still holding Kanan’s blaster and tapped it against her side. All the tenderness of the last few minutes had evaporated, but the self-control and determination that showed on her face now still held its own allure.

“How are our power levels all around?”

He checked the dim monochrome display and hissed through his teeth. “The emergency drop out of hyperspace and resetting the relays took a lot more of our power than we thought. We’ve got enough to make it to Husera, but we’d have to land pretty quickly. There wouldn’t be anything left for… emergencies.”

Hera nodded. Husera wasn’t an Imperial-controlled planet and they didn’t expect to find any trouble there, but it always paid to have enough fuel in the tank to make a quick get-away. It was a policy that had served them well in the past and was sure to serve them well again in the future.

“Do you think you could find us some extra time on the jump?”

Kanan slipped into the seat at the rear tactical station and started connecting the dots in hyperspace with long lines of calculations. Under his breath he muttered the trigonometric equations he and the other younglings had been forced to memorize a lifetime ago, permanently branded onto his brain alongside the times tables and the Galactic Basic Aurebesh. The gravity-wells were decreasing in number, but there were still plenty of neutron stars throwing off electromagnetic interference they needed to avoid, and that would take some fancy figuring on his part. Sometimes Kanan wondered if it wouldn’t be better to jump above the galactic spiral and back down again. Sure, it would take weeks instead of hours to reach their destination, but at least it would be simple to calculate.

After he’d gone through the calculations twice, Kanan finally spoke up. “I think I can get this down to two and a half hours,” he said.

Hera was hovering just behind him. “Alright. Let’s put that extra time to good use. Run another full diagnostic on the power systems, focusing on every conduit connecting the main power to the cockpit.”

Kanan raised an eyebrow at her. “What are you thinking?”

“If we secure all of the channels between here and the essential systems, we can save a lot of power while we’re in hyperspace by cutting all the _non_ -essential systems.”

“‘Non-essential’ as in…?”

Hera squeezed past him and brought up the power grid. Her lekku brushed against his leg as she bent over the display. “Like the heating to the cargo hold. No point in warming up a space that has no air. We can keep on the emergency lighting, but cut off all accessories in the living quarters, lounge and galley. All the terminals outside the cockpit. Turn off _most_ things in the fresher… We’ll keep artificial gravity– mostly because I don’t want to risk it messing with whatever else might be wrong with my ship…”

Kanan watched Hera’s mouth twist until deep lines formed around her mouth. The _Ghost_ was more than her ship; it was her freedom, her primary weapon with which she fought the Empire. More than that, it was her home. Taking damage from a TIE fighter was one thing, but this was something else. He could see in those lines that the thought of something being wrong with her ship that she couldn’t fix immediately unsettled her deeply.

Kanan’s hand reached out to reassure her, but he pulled it back. Instead he leaned closer and couldn’t help running his eyes over the curves of her lekku before running them over the diagram of the power grid. “What about weapons systems and the top level thermostat?”

“Good idea. We can go without the turbo lasers for now, but I’d like to switch them back to stand-by as soon as we exit into realspace. The top level temperature…” Hera winced a little and said, “We’ll turn it down a few degrees. It won’t save a lot of power, but every little bit helps.” It was no secret that Twi’leks didn’t like the cold. The usual temperature Hera kept the _Ghost_ at was already on the edge of her comfort level. He suspected that was why she wore two layers all the time.

“Keep it on, then,” he said and pointed to a different part of the diagram. “We can get the extra power by killing the galley instead. If we keep the fridge door closed, everything in there will stay cool for a few hours. Or we can just eat everything before it goes bad,” he smiled.

Hera coughed a laugh. “I hope you’re hungry for half a pint of blue milk and a jar of yellow mustard.”

“Hey,” he feigned injury. “There’s stale bread in there, too. I put it in there myself.”

“Really? When?” she asked, one lekku sliding off her shoulder

“About a week ago.”

Hera shrugged and returned to the power grid. “Shows how often _I_ look in there.”

Kanan beamed candidly behind her back.

“I’m hungry anyway so we’d might as well eat what we can. I wish we’d picked up supplies _before_ heading out.” She made a face and straightened her back. “Okay, let’s get this all set up before we make the jump.” She handed Kanan his blaster and moved to the chair at the opposite tactical station. Her mind and face were already focused on the task at hand. “You take down the non-essentials and I’ll work on checking the conduits. I’d like to get this done in less than half an hour; I don’t want to be late delivering our client’s bug-infested cargo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the completed sixth chapter.


	7. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanan and Hera discuss what to do about their situation, and Kanan makes Hera laugh.  
> For those of you wondering where Chopper's been this whole time, this chapter has the answer!

It took only ten minutes longer than they hoped to get the _Ghost_ prepped for her minimal-power journey, and most of that time had been dedicated to chasing down off-balance calibrators that were better fixed sooner rather than later. They cut off the crew cabins, but were forced to leave the lounge and galley open, being the only route to the fresher. Everything was shut down, from the main lighting to the Dejarik table to the _Ghost’s_ defensive lasers. As Kanan entered the updated hyperdrive coordinates, even the emergency lighting toned down a few notches. It would take his human eyes a good ten minutes to fully adjust to the low light, but for Hera it would only take a few seconds.

Kanan punched the hyperdrive and the swirling clouds of ancient supernovas disappeared into blinding white streaks of light. Soon those, too, gave way to the familiar blue-black swirl. He glanced at the indigo kaleidoscope and then checked the chrono before heading to the galley.

“Two hours and thirty-nine minutes to Husera,” he said, popping his head through the darkened doorway. “Still on schedule.”

Hera nodded as she slid the remains of a package of bread onto the table next to a survival lamp. The squat, round lantern was meant to serve as a campfire in emergencies, providing not only warmth, but a rudimentary cooking surface. The lamp glowed a deep yellow that filled the boxy room with sharp-edged shadows. Around it on the table, the bread, thermos and bowls stood like ancient monoliths, black against the light. Kanan took the bench opposite Hera. A cloud of steam billowed into the air as she poured hot water onto the noodles in her bowl. The lamp had drained them of color, but Kanan could tell by the salty smell that the noodles were kelp-flavored.

“So, what do you want to do about our employer, what’s-his-name?” he asked taking the thermos to re-awaken his own freeze-dried feast.

“Ajha,” she said without looking up.

He nodded and said it again, committing the name to memory. “Ajha. Yeah. Him. What do you want to do?”

Hera shrugged. “What _can_ we do?” She poked at her noodles to loosen them as they rehydrated into edibility. “I’ve been thinking about it since we found the song mites and I don’t know that there’s any way we can come out of this on top.”

Kanan didn’t like the defeated tone to her voice, but asked, “How do you figure?”

She took a deep breath. “If we accuse him of giving us infested cargo, he’ll just say that we already had an infested ship. I keep the _Ghost_ in top shape… at least I _thought_ I did.” She rolled her eyes around the darkened galley. “But I don’t keep a third-party maintenance record that could vouch for her space-worthiness. Without that, I have no way to prove that those song mites came from his cargo, especially not now that we’ve blown them into space. And now that the hold’s a mess from decompression, who knows if all the contents are going to survive. No oxygen, no heat… We’re barely going to make it out of this in one piece and we haven’t even fired a turbo laser.” Kanan couldn’t help but chuckle and Hera smiled grimly and added, “They could really dock us for this. Best case scenario: they slash our fee. Worst case: they bring charges against us. Then we’re looking at fines from the local magistrate and probably a secession of payment altogether.”

Kanan shrugged. “Well, we could always fly away before any of that that happens.”

“And become criminals?” …” She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand then stared at her gloves, as if surprised to see them. She tore them off, setting them on the bench.

Kanan poked at his noodles and backed away from the cloud of briny steam. “Technically, we’re already criminals,” he said and cocked a knowing eyebrow, but she didn’t laugh.

“You know what I mean. Not the kind of criminals that are branded because they fight injustice; the kind that don't respect legitimate authorities– whose actions affect regular people just trying to live out their lives.”

Kanan gave his noodles another swish. He made a face and reached for the bread. “I hear what you’re saying, but you’re forgetting one important detail in all this: these aren’t ‘regular people’ we’re dealing with. These guys are swindlers. They gave us cargo infested with song mites and sent us on a run that was not only dangerous, but ridiculously long– long enough that it was sure to wake up the mites with all the radiation.” Kanan slid open the top vent on the lamp and set a slice of half-stale bread on top. “If you ask me, I think they planned the whole thing.”

Hera narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “You said something like that before.”

He turned on the bench so that his back was to the wall, leaned back and explained. “It’s your basic insurance fraud scheme. You insure a bunch of stuff for more than its worth, make sure it gets lost and then collect double its value. Two businessmen like Ajha and– who’s his partner?”

Hera looked up from her noodle-bound fork. “Jhatu. His brother-in-law.”

“–There’s no way that Ajha and Jhatu don’t have this stuff insured up to a Mon Calamari’s gills. They’re counting on us to deliver them infested goods. Heck, they probably came up with this whole plan _because_ the stuff was infested.”

Hera’s eyes glazed over. “They probably didn’t even mean for us to survive this trip.” Her eyebrows creased into a line and she shook her head. “The only way to get out of this is to make the delivery on time and undamaged. I almost feel bad for delivering their cargo. And cleaned out, too.”

“Well,” Kanan scratched his beard. “There’s no guarantee that we got all of the song mites. If there are any more, they’re still in the crates. They don’t need a lot of oxygen to survive and most of those containers are air-tight.”

“So we’ll be passing on bad merchandise?”

“Probably.”

A bitter smile tugged at her lips before she took a bite of noodles. Kanan flipped his bread on top of the lamp. In the too-yellow light it almost looked appetizing. After another minute he pulled it off and juggled it between his fingers before taking a bite. The toast was dry, but not bad. Heck, even half-stale with nothing on it, it was still a lot better than some other stuff he’d eaten in his life. Kanan crunched thoughtfully as Hera slurped. When her noodles were gone, she lifted the bowl to her lips and Kanan smiled to himself. It was just like her not to waste a drop. When she’d finished, she plopped her own piece of bread on top of the lamp for toasting.

“Okay,” she said, her voice carrying more surety. “The way I see it, our main problem is making sure that Jhatu has nothing to complain about when we make the delivery. If everything’s in perfect order he can’t challenge our fee and he can’t file a false insurance claim, right?”

Kanan smiled to himself. That was just like Hera, too: always looking for the path to justice. “I guess that means straightening up the cargo hold again. Too bad it’s ventilated.” He stretched one arm over the back of the table near the wall and drummed his fingers. “We could say that it fell over dodging the neutron stars.”

She shook her head. “It wouldn’t explain the extent of disarray.” She stared into the lamp and then her face lit up in a smile. “I’ve got it,” she said.

Kanan raised an eyebrow as he finished off his second piece of dry toast. Hera set her elbows on the table, leaning forward.

“What was the one thing you hated most about Brase?”

“Besides the mediocre sandwiches and terrible weather?”

“Yes.”

Kanan thought, scratching his beard again. They’d only been on the planet for a few hours gathering the goods and loading them into the _Ghost_ , which took forever because they kept having to stop for–

“Ground quakes?” he asked.

Hera nodded. “Brase is known for its seismic activity. In fact, seismologists from all over the galaxy go there to study it. But more importantly, when I was talking to Ajha, he said something about how his goods were always jostling around his shop and _that’s_ why he only stocked ‘non-breakable goods.’”

Kanan’s eyebrows went up. “So even if the cargo was knocked over, it wouldn’t be affected, and we'd have nothing to worry about,” he said. “Do you have a recording of that conversation?”

“I make it a policy to keep every legitimate transaction on file until it’s completed and paid in full,” she said with a cunning smile.

Kanan mirrored her posture, leaning forward over the table until their heads were only a few inches apart. “I like the way you think, Captain Syndulla,” his said and his smile widened deviously.

With a smug toss of her lekku behind her shoulders, Hera leaned back. “Thank you, Crewman Jarrus.”

Kanan beamed at her for as long as he dared and then dropped his head to the bowl of noodles. He took a bite and found that they were already lukewarm. Too bad the flavor hadn’t faded with the heat.

The minutes rolled by and they relaxed into their meals, each one secretly praying that no new danger was lurking somewhere on the _Ghost_ or out in the invisible depths of space. The galley was eerily quiet. Without the hums and purrs of the ship’s creature comforts, it felt more like a flying coffin than the home it had become. Every few minutes, Hera shifted slightly on the bench or looked around at the darkened walls. Having the _Ghost_ shut down to maintenance or inspection was undoubtedly chafing her natural need for activity, so he wasn’t surprised when she spoke up.

“Can I ask you a question?” Her soft voice pushed aside the silence as they cleaned their plates from the table.

“Shoot,” he said and dumped the bowls in the sink with a clatter (his own was still half-full of cold, kelpy noodles).

The shadows in the galley, still for so long, suddenly jumped around them as she took the lantern off the table. “Where do you think you’ll be in five years?” she asked.

Kanan scoffed and dusted off his hands. “What is this, a job interview?”

“Just making conversation,” she said as they made for the cockpit.

Kanan gave a weak smile that he wasn’t sure she could see and followed her through the darkened hallways. Hyperspace was right where they’d left it, eating up the distance faster than light itself could travel. Hera set the lantern down between their chairs where it added its steady, warm light to the flickering blue. Kanan leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out towards the nose gun. He hooked his heels over the edge and laced his fingers behind his head. Next to him, Hera settled into her seat, letting her lekku hang casually over the back.

“Do you have an answer yet?”

“For what?”

She used her explanatory voice as she said, “Assuming everything in the galaxy went the way you wanted from this moment on, what would you want to be doing five years from now?”

Kanan’s eyes flickering towards her before he rolled his head around to take in the cockpit. “This,” he said.

“Seriously, Kanan.”

“I _am_ serious,” he said. “In five years I want to be here, in this ship, with you.”

Hera rolled her eyes. “ _You’re_ not very imaginative today.”

He made a nonchalant face. “What can I say? Thinking that far ahead isn’t really my style. You should have asked me what I wanted to be doing next month. I could have given you a better answer.”

“Okay, then,” she played along raising an expressive hand in the air. “If everything goes like you want it to in the next _month_ , what do you want to be doing?”

He pushed air out from between his lips as he tapped his thumbs together. “I’d like to have the _Ghost_ fueled up, fully supplied and on its way to a luxury vacation on Naboo.”

Hera made a face. “Isn’t that a little… _Imperial_?” Naboo was the Emperor’s home world.

Kanan shrugged. “The Empire would have fallen by then.”

Hera laughed lightly. “Really? How?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe Palpatine will see the error of his ways and re-establish the Republic– but with less corruption.”

Hera chuckled humorlessly. “Okay,” she said. “And what about the Imperial navy? In case you forgot, there are kind of a lot of them.”

“They’ll all be disbanded and go home. All of the occupied planets will be free to rejoin the Republic… or not. And the once-mighty Imperial navy will be reduced to twenty guys and an old Neimoidian shuttle.”

Hera burst out laughing. Her voice bounced off the metal walls with the spectral light.

Kanan didn’t miss a beat elaborating. “All the ex-TIE pilots will get together on weekends and console themselves by folding paper planes and throwing them around empty hangars. They’d tell everyone it was a training exercise.”

Hera was still laughing great, bellied guffaws.

“They’ll need to pay for the paper and the hangar rental, so they’ll probably set up a baked-goods stall at the spaceport on Naboo.” He waved his hand dismissively. “ _We_ won’t patronize it, of course.”

Hera’s laughter filled the cold, black corners of the room until it echoed with the melody of her voice. Apparently the mental image of disbanded Imperial troopers cramming into one of those ridiculously small, long-finned eye-sores that the Neimoidians sold to just about every sucker in the galaxy trying to look richer than their bank accounts could account for was exactly her kind of ridiculous.

She hiccupped once and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “So in one month the galaxy will be at peace and you and I will be on our way to Naboo for a vacation?”

Kanan nodded soberly. “If everything goes like I want it to, then yes, we will.”

She smiled again. “And what will we do on Naboo?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. I’ve never been there.” The smile Kanan flashed her was equal parts jovial and cunning. “We’ll just have to find out together.”

A few more residual chuckles escaped Hera’s throat as she watched Kanan recline in his chair again. “Anyway,” he said. “That’s where I see myself. How about you?”

Hera’s eyes drifted to the swirl of hyperspace, the last of Kanan’s jokes still twisting up the corners of her lips.

“Flying,” she said finally.

“Where to?”

“Anywhere,” she sighed.

He set his elbows on his knees. “You really love being a pilot, don’t you?”

Hera nodded. Her eyes were on the viewport. Hyperspace wasn’t terribly interesting to watch, but the way she was looking at it now, Kanan imagined that she was seeing something else entirely: the wide open sky, clouds on the blue-edged horizon dropping away to surrender the endless stars.

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be,” she said after a second. “When I was a little girl, I’d watch the Republic ships flying overhead, fighting to free Ryloth, and I would dream every night about being up there with them.” She reached out and touched the control yoke with her fingertips. “As soon as I was old enough, I learned how to fly anything I could get my hands on. And whenever I took off into the sky, no matter how bad things were on the ground, I knew they would be better up there, because… _I_ was better up there.”

Hera’s words trailed into the blue and yellow-edged darkness until they settled onto every surface like a fine dusting of snow. Kanan’s eyes were fixed on her.

She made an amused sound in her throat and tilted her head towards him. “I have a droid, you know,” she smiled.

Kanan blinked heavily, as if coming out of a trance. “You mentioned that before. What kind of droid is it?”

“He’s an old C1 series astromech. I rescued him from a Y-wing that crashed outside my family’s home.”

Kanan whistled. “A C1? I didn’t think any of those were still around.”

“Well, there’s at least _one_ that’s still functional,” she chuckled. “I wasn’t a very good mechanic when I found him. In fact, I think I learned most of my mechanical skills by practicing on him. He has some personality issues from the crash and plenty of dings and scrapes, and his legs don’t match, but he’s a great astromech. He can do absolutely anything. In fact, he made a lot of the modifications on the _Ghost_.” Hera smiled proudly.

“You keep on saying ‘he.’” It wasn’t a question, but Hera understood what Kanan meant. Unlike other kinds of droids, astromechs weren’t equipped with vocalizing units that were programmed to sound either male or female.

“His operating number is C1-10P. It looked like ‘C-H-O-P’ when I was little, so I’ve called him ‘Chopper’ ever since,” she explained.

“And where is _Chopper_ now?” He smiled at the sound of his voice saying the name for the first time.

Hera snorted a laugh. “Sending me angry messages. Waiting to be picked up.”

“Sounds like this droid’s got a lot of character.”

“Yeah. He reminds me a lot of someone else I know.” She shot him a sly glance from the corner of her eye.”

“C’mon now! You’re not seriously comparing me to an out-of-date old droid, are you?”

Hera’s eyebrows went up. “Didn’t I just say how loyal and reliable he is?”

“No, you said how crotchety and beat up he is.”

“Well then, you weren’t listening closely enough.”

“Ahh… I see. So it’s _my_ fault that I didn’t understand,” he teased.

“Mm-hmm,” she smiled, eyes flashing.

Kanan’s smile flashed back.

“I wanted to pick him up after this job,” she said, “But it looks like we’ll all have to wait a little bit longer.”

“Is Chopper somewhere close to Husera?” Kanan asked.

“No, but I was planning on going to Polis Massa next and wanted to pick him up on the way.”

“What’s in Polis Massa?” he asked casually.

“Greed and space-dust, mostly,” she answered. “But also a few people I want to talk to in person.”

Kanan nodded, knowing better than to ask any more. “Sounds like a good time,” he said and the cockpit of the _Ghost_ returned to silence.

While time passed in amiable quiet, minutes stretched and shrank with each person’s thoughts. Kanan worked hard not to stare at Hera, but in the dark there wasn’t anything else to look at, and, if he was being honest, there wasn’t anything else he wanted to look at. The ghostly blue of hyperspace turned Hera’s green skin to the color of storm clouds in the distance, while the glow from the lamp on the floor was like the first hints of dawn breaking across her face. The shadows around her were deep, melting her back and lekku into the darkness. The delicate arc of her nose and the swell of her lips were outlined perfectly in thin lines of flickering light.

Kanan studied the shape, committing it to memory. He’d memorized her voice a long time ago. Back on Gorse, before he’d ever laid eyes on her, he’d felt the irresistible pull of that voice. But, as gorgeous as she was, it hadn’t been until he’d seen her in action– her courage, ingenuity, and cool-under-pressure- that he’d decided he’d follow her anywhere. It hadn’t been a hard decision. After all, a fish on a hook doesn’t have much choice about following the way the line reels. But unlike a fish, Kanan hadn’t waited to be reeled in; he’d rushed in head first. Every moment from that first meeting on the muddy streets of Shaketown to this misadventure from Brase to Husera had been worth the ten years of drifting, if for no other reason than because it had led him to her.

Unable to sit still,, Hera leaned back and stretched from the balls of her feet to the tips of her lekku. No sooner had she settled back again than she was flexing her fingers. After a moment she lifter her hands to inspect them in the light. No gloved. She sat up straight and twisted left and right, searching the floor.

“In the galley,” Kanan said and nodded his head to the back of the ship.

Hera said nothing as she slid out of her chair and immediately tripped over the survival lamp. The clatter of metal crashed through the room as the light fell to its side and spiraled out of control like a top. Alternating bands of yellow and blue-black raced around the cockpit until the lamp clanked to a halt over the sealed hatch to the cargo hold. Miraculously righted onto its base again, it rattled in noisy circles, faster and faster until coming to a tinny halt. Black shadows settled into their new positions and soon everything was still again except for the flickering of hyperspace. Everything was quiet again, except for Kanan and Hera’s suddenly labored breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the completed seventh chapter.


	8. Unexpected Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get steamy when Hera literally falls into Kanan's lap.

How had she ended up like this? At what point had she gone from staring into hyperspace to straddling Kanan in the co-pilot’s chair?

Hera’s mind raced back through the past few seconds. When she'd gotten up to retrieve her gloves from the galley, she'd tripped over the survival lamp, kicking it across the floor. She'd tried to grab the headrest of her chair to steady herself, only to have it swivel out of her hand and send her reeling sideways. At the same time, her boot had gotten caught on a seam in the deck, throwing her completely off-balance into the co-pilot's chair. The result was her left knee caught between Kanan's right armrest and thigh while her other leg braced her akimbo.

Hera gripped Kanan’s shoulders while his hands steadied her at the waist. His face was so close it was all she could see. Eyebrows high enough to reach the ceiling, his nose cut a sharp profile against the black shadows. His mouth popped open to say something, but no words came out and Hera’s eyes lingered on the curve of his lips. There was a rustling as her grip tightened on his shirt.

It’d been weeks since she’d finally admitted to herself that she was attracted to Kanan Jarrus, but she’d refused to take it personally. Aside from his outward appearance and athleticism (which was of a tantalizingly high quality), there was a peculiar mix of rough-edged charm and deep-seated wisdom in him that kept her on her toes. Once he’d gotten over the smooth-talking and swaggering, Kanan had shown himself to be reliable, intelligent, resourceful, charming and genuinely brave time and again. But what had surprised her most was the tender way he watched out for other people, even as he made an extra effort to hide his good deeds. She’d often wondered what he thought he had to gain from the world only seeing him as a reckless roustabout. What did he stand to lose if people knew how compassionate and upright he could really be?

There was a soft scrape as Kanan’s pony-tail brushed against the top of the chair. Whether she’d started moving towards him or he towards her, she didn’t know. He gently squeezed her waist as his nose brushed her cheek. Then he stopped, as if giving her one last chance to back away. When she didn’t take it, they closed the distance and Hera’s eyes drifted shut.

Hera Syndulla’s nineteen years of life had been both long and short. They had been long in war, in dust, in the thunder of ordnance across the desert. But they had been short in romance, in stolen glances, in the kind of desire that burned in her now. A few boyfriends on Ryloth– mostly fumbling hands and too-hard kisses– were the extent of her experience. But even with that limited knowledge she could tell that Kanan was an excellent kisser. The pressure on her lips was light as he caressed her slowly, delicately. Unhurriedly, he opened her mouth and hot breath passed between them, familiar and sweet. It was as if they’d kissed a hundred times before, and she wondered if in his mind they hadn’t.

Hera opened her fists and smoothed her palms over his shoulders. The rough callouses on her hands caught on the fabric of his shirt. Before she knew it, her fingers were in his hair again. She rolled the thick, dark strands between her fingertips, still damp from the shower. After a moment, the thin band he used to tie it back hit the floor with a quiet _thunk_.

As they sunk into one another, the galaxy disappeared. Kanan’s hands found their way up and down her back as Hera pulled her other leg onto the chair. With her weight settled onto his lap, Kanan skillfully broke off the kiss, pressing his lips into her jaw and neck. Hera bit her bottom lip.

“How’s that?” he whispered against her skin.

His rough-edged voice rumbled against her. She took a ragged breath and answered, “Better.”

“Told you,” he said and she could hear the smirk.

In response, Hera pulled him back up. Their lips met and Kanan let out a soft chuckle against her mouth.

She kissed him again, more fervently than before, and there was a palpable shift in the tenor of their kisses. Kanan slipped his tongue into her mouth and a rush of energy rippled to the tips of her lekku. His hands tightened on her back and settled on the tops of her hips. She felt small under them, like a Rylothian _aola_ flower: lithe, but unbreakable.

Something wordless awoke in Hera’s mind then. It saw through her hands, through her mouth, through every cell in her body. It had no concept of the future. Cared nothing for consequences or the machinations of other beings far away. It knew only desire, consuming and insatiable. And right now it desired Kanan.

Fingers netted in his hair, Hera pulled him closer. When she took his lower lip between her teeth, he made a deep sound in his throat that sent shivers through her body. Kanan tightened his hands on her hips, pulling her into him. The mental image of the flesh pressing against her leg filled Hera’s mind. One-syllable words floated into her newly awakened consciousness. _Thick_. _Push_. _Want._ What would that flesh feel like between her palms? Pressed to her lips? Sliding into her mouth? What kind of noise would Kanan make then?

With a surge of instinct, Hera lifted onto her knees. Kanan’s hands slipped down to her rear, then lower… lower… Burning hot, Hera purred into his mouth and nodded.

But just has his fingers were converging, Kanan stopped short and reversed his hands slowly up her back.

“Hera,” he said, taking her face between his palms. “Hera, hold up.”

“Yes?” Her hips gave a little roll and Kanan couldn’t suppress a groan. She looked at him through half-lidded eyes, searching his lips and face for the next place to kiss.

“This isn’t… this is too fast,” he stuttered and when she didn’t reply, he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Hey,” he called softly holding her at bay. “Hey.”

Hera’s green eyes blinked twice as focus sluggishly returned to her mind. Her breathing calmed pulse by pulse and her hands eased their grip. Her mind was crowded with ideas and images. The foremost of which was of Kanan pinning her against the control console with their naked bodies chest to chest. She wanted that– wanted _him_ – but doubted the wisdom of having sex on top of a dozen buttons that could send them hurtling to a cold death in the depths of space. Still, it was an alluring image and slow to dissipate from her mind.

Kanan gently pushed her back and Hera settled onto his legs, cold air rushing between their bodies. His eyes were searching, pensive and Hera could only meet them for a second before looking away. The noise of hyperspace had returned, and she watched the flickering patterns across the durasteel for a long time. Finally, she pushed a deep breath out of her lungs. Without saying a word, she unfolded herself from Kanan’s lap. Her knees were tight from straddling him and she stumbled towards the door, still half folded over.

Kanan’s voice followed her through the space-cold air. “Are you…” he trailed off as if he couldn’t decide what to ask. Was she okay? Was she angry? Was she coming back?

Hera decided it was likely the first one and half turned to wave away his help, but her left knee buckled. She lost her balance and Kanan had her by the elbows before she was off her feet.

“Easy there,” he said and took her weight as she straightened her knees the rest of the way.

Hera gave a humorless cough. “Thanks,” she mumbled and hesitated halfway up from straightening her back. Kanan followed her eyes to where a huge bulge pushed against the front of his pants. She quickly averted her face, still gripping his forearms for support.

“I just need to… use the fresher,” she said through tight lips. She could feel Kanan flinch at the sound of her voice, not disappointment, but regret.

“Do you… want some help?” he asked uncertainly.

Hera tensed and shot him a questioning look.

“To the fresher, I mean,” he clarified.

Shaking her head she answered. “No, I got it.”

Hera took a halting step forward and activated the door. Keeping one hand on the wall, she traversed the long hallway and disappeared into the shadows that filled the back of the _Ghost_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the completed eighth chapter.


	9. Voice of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera redoubles her resolve to commit her entire life to the fight against the Empire.

The fresher door hushed closed and for a moment Hera was entombed in darkness. Then the bare emergency light in the corner gave a snap and exhaled a wane yellow. The air was cold and too-still. A thin scent of kelp lingered from the galley. As she moved mechanically through routine gestures, the close walled echoed hollowly.

Hera threw the last bit of paper into the toilet and hit the button, sending it into the septic receptacle. Once they returned to realspace it would be purged into the thrusters during their descent. Another non-essential system placed on hold. She washed her hands and wiped them dry on the towel turned sickly yellow by the light. Her hip hitched up uncomfortably, shifting against the cold spot in her underwear.

Heavily, reluctantly, she set her hands on the edges of the sink and forced herself to look in the mirror. Her face was sallow and her lekku drooped. Her eyes were featureless circles punctuated with black points. Overly flushed lips turned down in a line over her narrow chin. The fresher was chilly, like the rest of the ship, and now that her body temperature had dropped, the sweat gathered in her clothes made Hera shiver. She ripped off her goggles and cap, peeling them down her lekku. They were tender to the touch, growing cold at the ends. When she looked in the mirror again her breath caught in her throat. For the span of a heartbeat her mother had been staring back at her.

The mirror was as smooth as ice under Hera’s fingertips. She didn’t think about her mother every day anymore. Not even every month. She had lived to see the end of the Clone Wars, but not the liberation of Ryloth. When the Separatist droids had morphed into Imperial stormtroopers she had continued the fight for freedom. But one well-placed blaster bolt had…

Hera’s fists tightened around the polished plasteel. She had been too young to grasp the complexity of the political and military situations back then, but there was one thing from that time she had understood with searing clarity: that she was in pain to the core of her gut and to the marrow of her bones. She would hug herself against the desert heat like she was stranded in a blizzard, and the pain tore at her heart like sand in a storm. In the days that followed, her father had become a fleeting shadow glimpsed between the maelstrom of freedom fighters. Occasionally the roughened warriors would spare her sidelong glances, the dirty girl with the hydro-spanner and the broken-down droid. Syndulla’s daughter. Poor thing. Once, Hera had snuck to her father’s rooms in the middle of the night hoping to feel the ghost of her mother though his arms. But when she pushed open his door all she had found was an empty room under a thin layer of dust. He’d been gone for days and she hadn’t even known. Whatever hole the loss of his wife had left in his life, Cham Syndulla had filled it with Free Ryloth.

As it always did, Hera’s lip and lekku curled at the thought of her father. She searched the mirror for her mother again. People said that they looked alike, both green-skinned with fine brows and delicate chins. But in the line of her mouth, in the sharpness of her eyes lurked Cham Syndulla.

Was it worth it, she wondered. Did forgetting her make him a better fighter? A better leader? Was Ryolth closer to freedom because he’d chosen the cause over his own family? And once Ryloth was free what would be left for him? What good was victory when it meant losing the things you were supposed to love the most?

Suddenly, Hera’s mind was filled with the image of her father, his sharpened teeth flashing as his fist pounded the dust from his desk. “ _Sacrifices are a part of war, Hera. Not all of the casualties are counted with the bodies!”_ Behind him, a blaster-scorched mosaic of their family faded a bit further into the wall.

Hera shook her head to escape image, but a new one immediately rushed in to take its place: Ryloth under siege. The capital’s towers and villas smoldering as merciless winds syphoned black smoke into a blood-red sunset. She saw the planet ripped apart to its core and its precious ryll warped into mind-killing spice and set into the needles of interrogation droids. And across the galaxy the endless colors of her people scattered to the stars, struggling under the weight of chains. The image shifted and widened and she saw that Ryloth was only one of a thousand systems crying out for mercy. The beings of the galaxy reached out to her with grasping hands and wide eyes. Each one rasped for breath as the Empire’s gloved hand slowly closed around their throats. Among the cacophony of voices she could make out the far echo of her mother’s last scream.

Hera’s lekku twitched. She tightened her grip on the cold sink and studied the taught tendons on the backs of her hands. As much as she hated to admit it, this was perhaps the one thing that she and her father agreed on. The fight for freedom required– no, deserved– every bit of her being and every microgram of her commitment. The only difference was that she wasn’t abandoning anyone to do it. No one was going to be left cold and alone because of her choice to fight for the freedom of the galaxy.

A chill ran through her body, making her lekku tremble. She shook it off, rubbing her forehead, and gathered up her cap and goggles. She knew what she needed to do.

As her fist closed around the door handle, she glanced in the mirror once more before the yellow light went out, unsure of who was looking back at her with those sad eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the completed ninth chapter.
> 
> See Chapter 17, "UPDATES," for more information on the changes made to this chapter.


	10. Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera and Kanan argue about the nature of their relationship.

The door to the cockpit swooshed open. Inside, the air held an edge of stagnancy. In the ten minutes she had been in the fresher the cockpit had grown colder. Kanan spared a quick glance as she entered, closing the door behind her. She’d traded her orange flight suit for a worn out gray one that she only wore when the laundry was getting full. It had a long patch on the side of the right leg where it’d gotten caught on the chassis of a V-35 landspeeder. It wasn’t as thick as her usual suit and she shivered, settling into the pilot’s seat.

Kanan had resumed his usual posture, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his stomach. His eyes were half closed staring at the eerie fluctuations of hyperspace, but really he was watching Hera.

After a second’s hesitation, she tapped the display in front of her.

“I just checked,” he murmured without moving. “No new warnings. An hour and thirty left to go.”

Hera turned off the screen without looking at it. Her eyes flicked up at the viewport and down to her hands. Thankfully, she had remembered to grab her gloves in the galley. She flexed her fingers until the leather squeaked. Beside her, Kanan was as still as stone. The room breathed, but he didn’t. With a controlled breath, Hera released the tension in her hands. There was no point in delaying it.

“I owe you an apology,” she said to the control yoke. Her voice was steady, but tentative.

“What for?” he asked.

“I never should have kissed you,” she said. “I never should have…” Her mouth opened and closed without words. Then, “I never should have kissed you in the cargo hold. I never should have asked you to kiss me after that. I never should have–” she gestured vaguely in his direction. He looked at her hand and then back at her face. “I never should have done that.”

His eyebrow raised a fraction. His whole body was tight, like a lump of unformed plasteel had settled in his stomach. “I’m not upset, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said.

“It’s not. It’s…” she said too quickly and then pushed out a sigh, realigning her thoughts. “I think it’d be better if things went back to the way they were before.”

“So you want to forget about everything that happened today... between us,” he said.

Hera nodded once. She was still talking mostly to the control yoke, but at least angling her face in his direction now. “It’s a bad idea, Kanan,” she said. “What I’m doing needs all of my attention all of the time. If you can understand that again, then I’d like us to keep going like we were before.”

“Like we were up until today.” His voice was flat.

“Yes,” she said.

“Just as friends.”

“As shipmates,” she corrected.

The corners of his mouth pulled down. _Not a traveling companion. Not a revolutionary. Crew_. It was what he’d said when he first came aboard the _Ghost_ , and even though she wasn’t asking for anything more than that, the thought offered little comfort.

The carefully arranged features of Kanan’s face flickered until his dark eyebrows pulled together like a storm cloud. “What is this really about?” he asked.

Her back stiffened at the accusation in his voice. “It’s just like I told you: I have a mission and a responsibility. I can’t let anything jeopardize that.”

“Not even this?” His finger darted between the two of them.

“No, Kanan, not even that,” she sighed patiently.

He leaned back and tightened his arms over his chest. “You mean _especially_ not that.”

Hera couldn’t keep her nose from wrinkling. “What do you mean ‘ _especially?_ ’”

Kanan's eyes flicked over her from head to foot. “You’re scared,” he said.

She took a deep breath and smoothed out the prickles forming on her skin. “I’m not scared,” she defended with infuriating calm. “I’m doing what needs to be done.”

“On the surface, maybe, but underneath all that self-sacrifice you’re scared of something.”

Usually, Hera didn’t take the bait for an argument, but her emotions were running higher than normal. Her face tightened when she met his eyes. “Scared of what?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

“There’s nothing to tell. I’m being completely honest with you.”

“No. You were being completely honest with me twenty minutes ago when you...” Kanan pressed his lips into a twisting line before he got too detailed.

Hera ground her teeth. Behind her back the tips of her lekku curled forward. “That was a mistake, Kanan. One I’m not going to make again.”

He made a disgusted noise.

“I’m trying to do the right thing,” she said.

“Oh yeah? And who was the one doing the right thing then?”

Hera’s open mouth made no sound.

Kanan jabbed a thumb at himself. “That’s right. It was me. _I_ was looking out for us. Just like I’m always looking out for us!” He abruptly leaned forward and rubbed his face with his hands. “That’s not right. I mean, I _am_ always looking out for us. But aside from you going a lightyear a minute, I just don’t understand why _this_ is such a terrible thing.” He gestured to his chair when he said the word “this.”

Hera ignored the jab and the angry edge in her voice surprised even her. “It’s a terrible thing because romance and war don’t mix, Kanan. Being intimately involved has the potential to get us into _real_ trouble. Just imagine if we’d been sleeping together back on Gorse. Do you think Zal would have trusted us if we were hooking up behind her back? Do you think we would have been able to take down Vidian if we’d stopped to make out?”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion,” he groused.

“I’m not! And that’s what you don’t understand. When Vidian had you on that table? When he had me in that stasis field? How much more easily would we have given up vital information if we were watching not just our partner, but our _lover_ being tortured?”

“So _that’s_ it? You think you can’t trust me to keep a secret?”

“I know you can keep a secret.” They locked eyes and the unspoken passed between them with more recognition than they’d ever given it before. – _The control room of Forager. Debris stopped in mid-air. Kanan’s wry smile, his finger to her lips. “Shh. Don’t tell anyone...”_ – Without looking away, Hera took a deep breath. “What I need to know is that you’re going to put the mission first. Every time.”

Kanan held up his index finger. “First of all, I’m not a part of your ‘mission,’” he said making Hera’s eyes tighten in disdain. “And second of all, do you really expect me to put some mission before you and your safety?”

“Yes,” she said with deadly gravity. “There’s more on the line here than just you and me and whatever-it-is-that…” Her words ran out like a train without a track. He was staring at her intently with those piercing eyes, like he could see straight to the core of her. Hera gathered up the armor of her resolve; she pictured Ryloth and her mother. “What I’m fighting for is too important. If you get distracted you lose. That’s the way war works, Kanan. I’ve seen it.”

“Well, I’ve seen it, too,” he bit back. “And the results are pretty damn lonely.”

Hera flinched, shaking her head like she’d been hit. The anger flickered in Kanan’s face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but in the end he said nothing.

Hera dropped her head and tightened her hands into fists. When she raised her head again her face was like a dagger.

“You know my terms,” she said. “You can either accept them and stay on … or not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the completed tenth chapter.
> 
> See Chapter 17, "UPDATES," for more information on the changes made to this chapter.


	11. Unloading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera and Kanan make the long-awaited delivery to Jhatu on the planet Husera. Will things go down smoothly or will things end up a muddy, Ithorian mess?

Time passed in dark, noisy wordlessness. Kanan had dropped the verbal argument after Hera gave him the ultimatum, but from the look on his face it was still raging inside his head. It was the same for her.

Scared of what? She knew the answer, but even if she admitted to it– even to herself– it wouldn’t change the facts. Stopping the Empire was the life she had chosen and she couldn’t live with herself if she chose any other. On the other hand, she _could_ live with herself if she chose to go at it alone again. Well, not entirely alone. Hera’s thoughts fell to a cantankerous, orange-domed C1 unit. The little droid would give her a hard time for leaving him behind for this long, but he would get over it and things would get back to the way they had been before Kanan Jarrus.

Scrubbing her forehead with the back of her fist, Hera wondered if she hadn’t postponed picking up Chopper because she’d wanted to spend more time alone with Kanan. “Testing him out,” she’d called it, seeing if he could be trusted with more sensitive information. And if she was being honest, she had wanted to see how much Jedi was left in him– if that’s even what he had been when the Republic fell. Watching him now, she had to wonder. Weren’t the Jedi supposed to be monastic warriors, selflessly serving the galaxy? Kanan was a far cry from that paradigm: a roustabout, a thrill-seeker, a flirt and a drifter. But he was also trustworthy, courageous, dependable and honest. Was she reading more into those merits than was really there? Was she seeing a legendary hero– a symbol of the galaxy she was trying to restore– because that’s who she wanted to see, not because that’s who he really was?

Kanan hadn’t shown any further affinity for the Force in the months since he’d come aboard the _Ghost_ , unless you counted his quick reflexes and intuition. If she hadn’t seen him stop those falling debris on _Forager_ she never would have suspected there was anything out of the ordinary with Kanan Jarrus. Whatever his connection to the Force or the Jedi might have been, he seemed determined to keep it out of his life as much as possible now. And he was doing a good job of it.

Hera’s eyes flashed to his profile. Kanan’s mouth was set in a grim line that turned the meter between them into a lightyear. His attention loomed on his console like a black cloud hovering over a mountain. Remembering that one of the conduits beneath the co-pilot’s controls had been damaged, he’d set to fixing it with the same efficiency as he did everything else, flashlight gripped between his teeth. Now Kanan tapped at the screen and adjusted a control to the right. The display flashed red. His face remained a mask as he adjusted again.

Putting all thoughts of Kanan’s hypothetical connection to the Jedi aside, Hera quizzed herself on the more practical question: did Kanan Jarrus fit in on the _Ghost_? And the answer was a resounding yes, he did. Beautifully. He fit so well that she’d found herself feeling more at ease than she had in a long time. More than that, the _Ghost_ was in amazing order. The _Phantom_ was almost up to specs. Even her missions, which Kanan usually opted to stay away from, typically went more smoothly. And when they didn’t she’d had a partner she could rely on to provide the cover, talk the talk, make the getaway. But now…

Kanan’s fingers skimmed over this control panel and the display rewarded him with a green glow. His eyes moved over a series of short readouts, but if he was satisfied that he’d finally solved the problem remained a mystery. His face never changed from that brooding glare. Hera assumed he’d still be wearing it when they made landfall on Husera in a few minutes.

She turned her attention back to her own controls. However this day was going to end, she was glad that at the very least this “simple job” was about to be over.

At long last the approach indicator flashed its blue-white warning and Kanan killed it with a noisy flick of a switch. Hera activated the controls and settled into her seat. Her shoulders relaxed a fraction with the yoke in her hand as she brought up her main display.

“Preparing to enter realspace,” she said, keeping to protocol. The auxiliary lights in the cockpit brightened. Her eyes adjusted quickly, but Kanan worked to blink away the glare.

The blue-black vortex that had enveloped them for the past nine hours (give or take) flashed white and reached out to scatter pinpoints of stars in an endless black field. Hera eased the yoke down and the thick crescent of a forested planet striped with blue bands of liquid water overtook the viewport. Its poles were heavy with white ice and a belt of storm-clouds encircled the equator.

Hera glanced to her left. The gauge was steady. “Connectivity to the main power is holding,” she said.

Kanan clicked a few buttons. “Bringing turbo lasers onto standby.”

Hera’s lekku quirked at his flat voice. She’d forgotten they’d decided to do that.

With a knot twisting in her stomach, she entered Jhatu’s information and typed out a minimalist message. “ON APPROACH. ETA 20 MIN.” Her finger tapped impatiently on the control yoke until the message registered as “received.” There was no reply.

The _Ghost_ floated down towards the humid ball spinning around its scrawny yellow star. Three oblong moons were visible on the far side, little more than asteroids caught in the planet’s gravity.

“It’s day on the side of the planet where we’re making the drop,” she said. “At least we won’t have to worry about the burned-out landing lights.”

Kanan answered her with silence. He was scowling at Husera as it grew bigger, passing the terminus from night to day. As they got closer he flipped on all of the displays on his side of the cockpit and Hera angled the deflector to take the brunt of the thick atmosphere. The coordinates they were aiming for were about a third of the way down from the equator on the edge of the smaller of Husera’s two cities. Thank the Goddess, it would be a quick hop over to the spaceport for refueling and repairs. Assuming everything at the exchange went as planned.

The _Ghost_ sailed along the spines of twisting winds and stretches of forests so green they looked black at times. As their elevation decreased, condensation gathered on the viewport. It beaded into long ribbons that flowed up and over the canopy like star lines.

“Repressurizing the cargo hold.” Kanan turned a control and cracked open the cargo door. The fitful buffeting of wind and high clouds was swallowed by the squeal of air rushing into a vacuum. Kanan kept his eyes on his work. “Pressure restored. Temperature rising. Ten minutes to equalization.”

Hera nodded.

Jhatu’s compound wasn’t hard to find. It was the only cluster of buildings on a tall outcropping that overlooked the city, a modest metropolis of sloped roofs that spread from the bottom of the cliff out to the edges of the next forest. A river ran through the city’s center from west to east like a silver ribbon splitting it into two equal halves.

With her usual grace, Hera lined up the cargo hold with the doors of a small warehouse and brought the _Ghost_ to ground. Dirt and dead leaves kicked up under the repulsors and turned the landing area into a damp tornado. As soon as the landing gear thumped onto solid ground she switched to standby. It took more power to shut-down and restart than to keep the engines idling. The whirr subsided to a dull hum.

Kanan was up the same moment the _Ghost_ touched down. “I’ll start unloading the cargo. You talk to Jhatu.”

Hera listened to the hollow clunk of his boots on the ladder’s metal rungs. There was a thud as he skipped the last two. The sound echoed strangely in the cockpit now that they were in atmo again. Through the muggy mists and trails of water gathering on the viewport, two Ithorians were making their way towards her ship.

Hera took a deep breath.

Outside, it was cooler than she expected and thick with the scent of approaching rain. Breathing it in deeply, the moisture coated her face and lungs. Kanan was already breaking down the first grossly misaligned rows into more manageable chunks. She barely spared him a glance as she stepped off of the ship. The soft earth squelched under her boots and sent up the aromas of mud and humus.

Waiting for her directly between the _Ghost_ and the warehouse were an adult and an adolescent Ithorian. The younger one’s eyes darted between the older one and the ship. He wrung his long-fingered hands nervously until the adult noticed and swatted them apart.

“Hi,” Hera greeted, plastering her face with the same charming smile that had gotten her through so many tough situations in the past. It felt at odds with the low, gray clouds pressing down on the cliff face. “I’m Captain Hera Syndulla. You must be Jhatu.”

The younger Ithorian gurgled something in his native language that earned him a cold look. The older one swiftly recovered his composure, though. He pressed his hands together genially and spoke though the voice modulator attached to his left mouth. “Captain Syndulla, of course. So glad to see you made it safely from Brase.” Something in her expression must have changed because he followed up with, “Those electromagnetic fields can be tricky for a lot of pilots.”

“Luckily, I’m not like a lot of pilots,” she said and held up a datapad. “This is the cargo manifest and fee schedule we received from Ajha. If you’d like to check it over and complete the payment we’ll unload your cargo and be on our way.”

Jhatu took the datapad absentmindedly. His attention was on Kanan who was already pushing out the first crates. He got them as far as the line that Jhatu and his companion demarcated, before the Ithorian held up one of his hands.

“Hold on,” he said. “Where do you think you’re taking those?”

Kanan kept walking. “To your warehouse. Where else?”

“No. I want to make sure everything’s in order first. Bissol, check those crates. Make sure everything’s alright inside.”

The younger Ithorian, Bissol, took a step forward and hesitated, turning back to Jhatu. “Go on,” Jhatu ordered and he slunk forward, touching the crate gingerly with his long, knobby fingers.

Kanan shrugged and kicked off the repulsor control. The crates drop to the ground with a noisy squish, splattering mud across the younger Ithorian’s pants. Bissol shot Kanan glare that was ubiquitous across all species. Kanan didn’t even look up.

Hera frowned. “Be a little more careful with the client’s merchandise, would you?” she grumbled as he passed. He didn’t slow down but turned up his palms at her as he went back for the next load.

Jhatu took a step forward. He was eyeing the cargo still in the ship. “What happened to all my merchandise? Why is it all over the place?” he demanded waving the datapad at the lopsided towers. Decompressing the cargo hold had shifted things around, just like she’d suspected, but not nearly as badly as she had feared. In fact, it looked a little easier for Kanan to get at.

“Ground quakes on Husera,” she said without missing a beat. “A big one hit just before we took off.” She came over to stand next to Jhatu, rearing herself up to her full height which meant she was about level with his wide eyes. “Good thing Ajha only stocks non-breakable goods. Otherwise we all would have been in trouble.”

Jhatu ignored her comment and took another step forward to scrutinize the undercarriage of the _Ghost_. “What are these burned out lights?” he asked. As if in response to his words a conduit in the wall of the cargo hold blew out, sending out a dainty shower of yellow sparks. “What kind of a ship are you running here, _captain_?” Even his modulator picked up the accusation in his voice. Hera thought she saw Kanan’s blue-green eyes flash up for a second. He was already setting the repulsors on his second load, a tower four crates high. The bottom crate whined under the weight and he gave it a swift kick of encouragement.

“Hey! Would you be careful with that?” she snapped half for Jhatu’s benefit and half out of her own frustration. What was he playing at?

Jhatu made an irritated noise and turned back to his companion. Bissol had the first crate open and was rummaging through the contents. He held up a package of diapers in each hand. His voice clicked and whooped from both of his mouths.

Jhatu rubbed the front curve of his head with one hand and closed his eyes. He pulled the modulator off of his left mouth and a long series of complex vocalizations followed. Bissol dejectedly lowered the diapers, gave a nod and tossed them back into the crate. Jhatu kept talking though, gesturing first to the _Ghost_ and then to the city. His tone lowered. Bissol said something back and Jhatu gave a curt reply that made the younger Ithorian’s eyes go wide.

Kanan cut the power on the next stack and let the mud slop against his already muddy boots. He leaned his hip on the crates and folded his arms.

“Hey, _captain_!” he called and Hera couldn’t have stopped her eyes from rolling if she had tried. His mouth was still in that hard line, but his body language was a lot closer to the free-wheeling Kanan she was familiar with. He jerked his thumb at the two Ithorians.

“Just thought you’d want to know that Jhatu over there just told his son that they can still damage the goods after we leave and blame it on us.” The two hammerheaded faces swung in his direction. “He said they’ll call the constable to arrest us about twenty minutes after we leave, so he wants Bissol there to get the comm ready.” Kanan pushed off of the crates and made for the next load. “Oh yeah, and he says that we’ll be easy to catch because you’re so bad at taking care of your ship that we’ll probably be stuck in town doing repairs for a while.”

A fire flared up in Hera. She turned on the Ithorians with her hands balling into fists at her sides. Kanan glanced over his shoulder long enough to give a shrug to the two dumbfounded Ithorians. He squeaked out a few syllables that Hera didn’t know human mouths could make.

Jhatu’s eyes shifted between Kanan, the cargo and Hera. He shoved the modulator back against his left mouth. “How dare you accuse us of such an outrageous scheme?” he bellowed. “You’re nothing but second-rate smugglers who couldn’t hack it on the black market, aren’t you? You!” He pointed to Kanan who barely spared him a glance. “How dare you insult us by pretending to speak our language? There are only a handful of humans in this galaxy who can understand Ithoresse and I doubt any of them would waste their talents working on a deplorable waste of Corellian craftsmanship like this,” he waved to the _Ghost_. Next he pointed at Hera. “I don’t know how you got your hands on a ship like this, but it’s wasted on slaver-bait like you.”

Before Jhatu could get out another syllable Kanan took a menacing step forward. Hera held up her hand and he stopped, boots sliding in the mud. The line of his mouth curled down at the corners dangerously.

When Hera turned back around, Bissol was fidgeting with his hands again and slowly backing away whether he realized it or not. Her voice cut through the mist-laden air.

“Honestly, I don’t really care what you think of me or my ship. We have an agreement with you and Ajha that states we deliver the merchandise confirmed by preliminary transmission and outlined on that manifest–” she nodded to the datapad dangling in Jhatu’s fingers “–at this time, in this place, undamaged.” She folded her arms over her chest. The fabric on her sleeves was damp with humidity. “Are you accusing us of not fulfilling that contract? Because that’s a serious accusation.”

Jhatu glanced down at the datapad. A few rumblings came from his mouths, but nothing coherent. Kanan stepped up beside Hera and mirrored her posture by crossing his arms. She wanted to look over at him but she couldn’t take her eyes off of the Ithorians. The power play was on.

Jhatu’s mouths worked and mulled. The datapad was shaking in his hand. “If- If I find that any of my merchandise has been compromised-” he started.

She gestured to the featureless building in front of them. “Then let’s move it into the warehouse and open everything up so you can have a look.”

Jhatu’s eyes skimmed over the crowded towers of crates, shifted into haphazard skyscrapers by their perilous journey. His knees jittered as he spoke, but his voice was nearly steady. “Why move them at all? Let’s open them right here!” he squawked.

“Unfortunately, as you pointed out, my ship’s in need of some routine maintenance and I’d hate for your merchandise to be inadvertently damaged while we confirm its integrity.”

Kanan scoffed to himself. “That’d be ironic,” he said loud enough only for her to hear.

At the sound of this half-laugh, Hera finally let herself peek up at him. He was scratching his ear, wiggling the inside with his little finger as if it itched… and making sure that Jhatu saw it.

A smile flickered across her face. She lowered her voice to as threatening a tone as she could. “I’d hate to hear your _wails_ of sorrow should anything happen to your merchandise… or you.”

Jhatu’s back straightened. Bissol, already a good four paces behind his father, looked like he was about to bolt.

“You already said yourself this ship is a ‘deplorable waste of Corellian craftsmanship,’” Kanan picked up. “Why would you want everything to stay in here longer than it has to? Let’s get it unloaded and check it out. _In your warehouse_. _Very thoroughly_.” The way Kanan’s voice dropped on the last two words made Hera’s spine tingle.

Jhatu looked around and spotted Bissol. Anger flashed across his T-shaped face and his eyes pulled into an inverted V-shape. He curled his fingers around the datapad.

“Bissol!” he yelled and the younger Ithorian jumped. “Get the money box from the house.”

Bissol made a sound of protest and held up his palms towards the open crate full of diapers.

“Just get it and bring it here,” his father commanded and the young being scurried off towards the long low building next to the warehouse.

Hera’s mouth quirked up at the side. Kanan had been right. Jhatu and Bissol knew about the song mites.

The three waited in uncomfortable silence until Bissol returned holding a small metal box. He gripped it tightly to his stomach like he didn’t want to let it go.

“There aren’t any unexpected surprises in there, are there?” she asked as he handed it over.

Now it was Jhatu who was fidgeting with his hands. “No,” he said. “Just your fee.” The modulator didn’t cover up the sneer of disdain.

A quick flick of the lid revealed that the full payment was inside. Hera felt like it was the first thing that had gone right all day. She tossed a lekku over her shoulder towards Kanan. “You can keep unloading the crates,” she said. “Our business here is almost finished.”

Jhatu and Bissol waited in tense silence as Kanan unloaded the rest of the merchandise onto the leaf-strewn mud. At one point Jhatu ordered his son to help him speed things along, but Kanan refused saying that he’d already lost one shirt that day. The Ithorians exchanged a confused stare and remained motionless. Their heavy feet sank into the soft ground as a misty rain began to fall. Finally, the last of the crates splatted down and Kanan brushed off his hands.

“That’s it.” He wiped a strand of hair from his rain-dampened forehead.

Hera nodded and hefted the soft bag that she’d transferred the credits into, leaving the empty box on the ground to collect rainwater.

“Thank you for your business,” she said coolly and headed back up the ramp. The empty cargo hold echoed with her footsteps. Mud and twigs were smeared across the floor, the least of her worries. Kanan followed and she waited for him to set his hand over the door controls before she climbed up the ladder. Kicking off her boots, she dashed for the pilot’s chair. She doubted Jhatu and Bissol would try anything during their takeoff, but she didn’t want to give them the chance, either.

The _Ghost_ growled as Hera woke up the engines with a series of motions that she could have executed in her sleep. As the ship eased off the cliff face, Hera could see Jhatu and Bissol shielding their faces from the stinging droplets the repulsors flung into their faces. The hull hummed and a series of sharp whistles marked the last few inches before the cargo door thumped shut.

Hera pushed the yoke forward just as the gray sky opened up in a fitful torrent. The rain splattered across the viewport in noisy sheets. If she’d been a human she would have needed to turn on the night vision assist, but her Twi’leki eyes were able to navigate the deluge of gray and silver without trouble.

There was a shuffle and two thuds as Kanan’s boots joined hers next to the ladder. He collapsed into the co-pilot’s chair and it swiveled to the front with a squeak. Kanan rubbed the rainwater off his face on the biceps of his damp shirt one side at a time. He sniffled. For a second Hera thought he was going to say something– crack a joke and make everything between them whole again. But he only scraped the backs of his hands against his pants and started searching for fueling stations in the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the completed eleventh chapter.
> 
> See Chapter 17, "UPDATES," for more information on the changes made to this chapter.


	12. Leak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanan makes a decision in response to Hera's ultimatum.

After refueling, Kanan and Hera had agreed that the more distance they put between them and Jhatu the better. It was a short flight up to Husera’s largest city, Hoffin, an industrial hub close to the northern pole. Kanan’d heard that the planet’s ice cap was a sprawling network of blue-ice caves, the deeper ones housing luminescent silk-worms that fed on the same veins of frozen kalioxide valued by the miners. A part of him was curious to see this natural wonder, but a bigger part of him wanted to avoid the sub-zero temperatures. And an even bigger part wanted to put Husera behind him as soon as possible.

Still early in the morning, Kanan clinked his fingernail on the side of another empty mug of caf. He’d already been up for over an hour, unable to sleep. The galley was brimming with supplies for the first time in a while. Fresh fruits, especially colorful pink and yellow meilooruns, sat piled on the counter next to boxes of ration bars in a rainbow of flavors.

Even the long-awaited return of food didn't have much effect on Kanan's mood. Hera’s ultimatum hung over him like a shroud he kept trying to push off only to find it smothering him again. In his attempt to escape it, he’d come to the galley. It was quiet, cold and mostly dark, the perfect place to roll through menial reports and diagnostics, pretending not to think. The only real comfort in the room came from the caf machine, but even its welcoming aroma was dimming quickly. Kanan tapped the ceramic cup again and glanced at the datapad. Ten percent until full down-load.

Pushing out a long breath, he almost missed the hush of Hera’s door opening at the other end of the ship. His eyes shot to the caf machine blinking for its water to be refilled. He considered jumping up and filling it, but the thud of the cockpit door killed that idea. He leaned back, still tense. His chest had been slowly closing up into a lump of unformed plasteel, growing larger every time he avoided speaking to Hera and growing heavier every time she avoided looking at him. He shifted in his seat and pushed the lump down again, ignoring the silence at the end of the hall and the red blinking light on the caf machine. The empty cup chinked crisply under his fingernail twice more before the datapad finally lit up.

Kanan pushed lazily through the list as he took in the details of the latest diagnostic. Yellow warning lines rolled down the screen. From exterior lights to power couplings to sub-buffers and relays, everything needed attention. One of the items in particular glared at him obstinately from the bottom of the list. The starboard external coolant leak was back.

In atmosphere, the cargo-hold was echoic, and his footsteps bounced through the empty space still littered with dirt and leaves. Where just yesterday it had been piled with precarious crates of infested cargo, now the corners were crowded with fuel canisters, battery cells, and spare parts. It was everything they needed to bring the _Ghost_ back to top traveling condition.

Any other day these piles of supplies would have filled Kanan with a thrill of anticipation, the symbol of new adventures on the horizon. But as it was, he barely glanced at them.

In a few seconds the starboard access panel was off. He shined a flashlight into the same cramped space he’d squeezed into less than a day before while interstellar parasites squealed in his ears. The beam of light fell on the sealant, transparent purple now that it had dried. A spider web of tiny cracks glittered throughout all three layers, shifting like a kaleidoscope as he moved the flashlight from side to side. He’d have to scrape it all off and start again if he wanted to fix it properly. About an hour’s worth of work. Great.

Hydrospanner in hand, Kanan’s mind wandered back to the same monologues he’d been fighting all night. The first voice was Hera’s. _You know my terms,_ she said. _You can either accept them and stay on… or not._

The memory of those words made the lump in his chest churn, so he pushed them aside. No sooner were they gone than another voice welled up, this one attached to a face he refused to see. _You must not grow too attached, too fond, too in love with life as it is now,_ it said. _Those emotions are valuable and should not be suppressed. But you must learn to rule them lest they rule you._

Kanan sneered and scoffed. What the kriff was that supposed to mean? He was allowed to love his life, just not _too_ much? Were emotions even real if you could pick them up and put them down on a whim? And what kind of life was that, anyway– never loving your life so much that you never wanted to let it go? The way he saw it, if you didn’t love what you were doing enough to wish it’d never end, you weren’t doing it right.

Looking back, Kanan had only ever loved his life that much once before, and that was the one time it had fallen apart; every friend and ally he’d ever known either killed or trying to kill him. But he’d adapted. He’d changed. He’d survived. Was that sage advice from long ago just about staying alive? If so, then he’d mastered the technique. Kanan Jarrus: always ten steps ahead of the Empire– until now, when he seemed to be stepping into their crosshairs more and more frequently.

Thinking about it again, those brief days during the Clone Wars weren’t the only time he’d ever loved his life that much. These past three months had been the best he could remember since… well, it had been a long time. Working with Hera against the Empire– even if he never took a direct hand in her work– had felt _right_. Kanan hadn’t realized how much he’d missed having a purpose beyond making enough credits to get plastered night after night. And on top of that there was Hera herself. Never before had he seen someone with so much passion and drive. She was like a shining sun radiating warmth and strength. Standing in her light had made a part of him glow again that he’d left dead and buried a long time ago. He wasn’t too proud to admit that his life had a purpose again because of her. And yet, as he scraped away the last shards of hardened purple sealant, he knew that it wasn’t enough. Something was missing, and it was all the more bitter because of the three times he had held it in his arms.

With an errant scratch at his forehead, Kanan traded the hydrospanner for the minivac. The glittering chips of sealant disappeared into the whirr of the tiny engine, made twice as loud by the confined space. But not even its high-pitched whine was loud enough to mask the soft footfalls that approached behind him.

“What are you doing down here?”

Kanan expected his nerves to grate at the tone in her voice, but somehow the emotion didn’t make it through the static that rose up around the lump in his chest.

Cutting the minivac, he placed it back in the tool box. “What does it look like?” he said. “I’m fixing the coolant leak.”

Hera leaned over and peered into the dark space, lekku dangling over her shoulders.

“You can’t do it like that,” she said. “You have to lock off the segment first.”

Kanan allowed himself to look at Hera’s face. Although her voice was sharp, the tightness in her mouth was the only other sign of perturbedness. For some reason this made his chest feel heavier.

“Relax,” he said. “The _Ghost’s_ powered down. The system’s empty.”

“There could be residual pressure. You have to isolate it before doing maintenance.”

He stuck his hand back in the opening, brushing the lingering dust off of the pipes. “Well, on every other ship I’ve worked on, the coolant drains to the reservoir when the power’s off. The _Ghost’s_ been powered down for hours. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Hera pushed past him and stuck her head back into the alcove. “Well, this is my ship, not ‘every other,’” Hera said and the pipes gave a shake as she turned the locking mechanism.

Sitting back on his heels, Kanan made a face to himself. “So that’s it, then? We’re not even going to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Crouching next to him, she dusted off her gloves.

“About how there’s more than one right way to do things.”

Nodding at the open panel, she said, “You have to isolate the coolant segment before any repairs. It’s standard procedure.”

“No, you don’t,” Kanan drawled. “The coolant leaves the system when the ship’s powered down. Besides, I fixed it yesterday without isolating it and that was when we were in hyperspace.”

“First of all: that was an emergency,” she said. “Second of all: you weren’t banging on it with a hydrospanner, then. You were spraying it with sealant.”

“I wasn’t banging on it with a hydrospanner now,” he countered.

“Locking off the system is just good practice. And we follow good practice on my ship.”

Kanan frowned. “So that’s it, then? Captain Hera knows best?”

Hera set her hands on her hips and raised her fine eyebrows. “On my ship? Yes. I do.”

The numbness that surrounded the hard lump in Kanan’s chest flickered like a holovid with a bad feed. The emotion that lurked behind it was one that he didn’t recognize. It reminded him of anger, but it was different. If anger was a piercing rainstorm, this was a roiling ocean. Quietly and quickly, the ocean crashed through the numbness and the hard lump was tossed into the tumult of the waves. He pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead and rubbed it, giving himself time to think.

“Fine,” he said getting up and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. The lump was spiraling downwards now, threatening to pull him along with it.

 _…You must not grow too in love with life as it is now_ …

_…You must learn to rule them lest they rule you…_

_…You can either accept them and stay on… or not…_

He growled internally at the voice. Externally, a different voice asked, “Are you listening to me?”

Kanan took a deep breath and blinked as if pulling himself out of a heavy sleep. When he spoke, it was mostly to the walls and floor. “I’m going to help you get the _Ghost_ back into shape,” he said. “There’s a lot of work here and it’ll go quicker with two.”

Hera’s shoulders and lekku stiffened minutely. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

He went on. “When everything here is done, I’m going down the street to Hoffin spaceport.”

Hera paused. She looked like she wanted to reach out to him, but she only asked, “For what?”

Kanan took in another deep breath and let it out slowly.

“For a ticket.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the completed twelfth chapter.


	13. The Last Time

Two full days. Two full days and the repairs were finally finished.

Hera glanced out the viewport to where flaky fistfuls of snow spiraled down from a white sky. The snow muted the air as it slid across the silver-domed rooftops cluttering the view out the docking bay. Although the domes were designed to draw warmth into the buildings below them, the pearly frost crawling across their surfaces gave the landscape a ghostly quality.

Hera snorted at her semi-joke. “Ghostly,” she repeated to herself and reached for the console, but a sound from the belly of the ship stopped her hand short. A dull clang echoed up from the cargo-hold. Somehow the freezing temperatures outside had amplified the silence of these past two days. Where the quiet times on the _Ghost_ had once been comfortable– even affable– now they were grating, like fingernails scraping at her insides. Kanan and Hera had split up the repairs and kept out of each other’s way with a minimum of discussion. It was almost funny how they were still able to work together fluidly even with the inevitable hanging over them. Still, this clang that rang through the _Ghost_ was especially hollow; Kanan was back from the spaceport.

Hera willed herself not to listen to every scrape and thud that accompanied his return, but her ears were zeroed in so much that she no longer noticed the diagnostic results in front of her. She hadn’t been sure this morning when he’d headed out if that would be the last time she saw Kanan Jarrus. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if he left without saying good-bye, but she was relieved that he had come back… at least for that.

A knock sounded on the door to the cockpit and it slid open. Kanan stood in the doorway wearing a newish green sweater he’d picked up. Since Twi’leks didn’t handle cold weather well, Kanan had braved the snow and ice to shop around for spare parts. She suspected that it was also a good excuse for him to get off the _Ghost_ and away from her. His boots and pants were still wet around the ankles from the slush on the streets. His overcoat was nowhere to be seen, presumably left down in the cargo-hold to drip snowmelt onto the floor.

Her palms went numb as she took him in. His long dark hair was pulled neatly back. He’d shaved that morning, leaving his face smooth of everything but the beard he kept at the end of his chin. On his thigh was strapped his blaster and a few new gadgets were scattered on his belt. He leaned on the doorframe, trying to look relaxed, but the tightness in his jaw told her he was anything but.

Hera took in a long breath that shook at the end. “Did you get everything taken care of?” she asked. Her head buzzed with a noisy static, but she shoved it aside and listened to the silence ringing in the chilly air instead.

“Yeah. I’ve got a flight leaving in about an hour,” he said not quite meeting her eyes.

Hera felt like she’d been punched in the gut. So soon.

“Good,” she nodded. She wanted to ask where he was going, but it was better if she didn’t know. Instead she gave the cockpit a quick glance and stood up. Would he see that her knees were shaking?

“Thanks for all your help.” She stuck out her hand. “I couldn’t have gotten this all done without you.”

“Yes, you could have.” He took her hand and gave it a single, firm shake. They both pulled their hands away a beat too quickly.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “It just would have taken a lot longer.”

His wry smile was tired at the edges. “So you’re going to Polis Massa next?” he asked.

“After I pick up Chopper. It’s just a quick stop.”

Kanan’s lips quirked at the sound of the droid’s name, but the flicker of warmth vanished like a cold ember. He would never meet Chopper. He would never meet her oldest companion. He would never… Hera cleared her throat. She could let it close up on her later.

Kanan nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. It was a boyish gesture that she’d always found frustratingly charming.

Snow continued to fall over the city. Hera kept her posture tall and steady as she wondered where he would go, what he would do. Back to drifting, most likely _._ Kanan had a lot of skills, but his best was staying alive. He didn’t need her or anyone else to worry about him. Still, as she stood waiting to see which one of them would speak first, she couldn’t help her heart from sinking into her feet. When it hit the floor and neither of them had spoken, she knew their time was up.

“I guess you’ll want to get going,” she said and stuck out her hand for the second time. The last time.

Kanan looked at her hand, his own lingering on the back of his neck. His eyes drifted to the viewport and Hera could see the silver-white domes of the city reflected in them. He walked around her as if she wasn’t even there and sat down in the co-pilot’s seat. His face was to the falling snow, the low white clouds whispering gray feathers like long, trailing fingers. When he turned back his eyes were terribly blue. “Sit down for a sec, okay?”

Hera hesitated. Why was he drawing this out? Wasn’t this as painful for him as it was for her? “Kanan, I’m not sure-”

He waved his hand. “It’s not about that,” he said. “It’s about something else.” When she didn’t move he added, “Hera, please. It’ll only take a minute.” The way he said _please_ … He wasn’t teasing or chiding her; he was entreating her, like a final request.

Hera bunched up her fists at her sides. What she meant to be a casual few steps was more like a march to the pilot’s seat. She swiveled around to face him, knee to knee.

Even compared with a few seconds ago, Kanan’s face was different. All of the boyishness had vanished, replaced by a rare placidity. Hera opened her mouth, but forgot what she was going to say when Kanan linked together two of the new gadgets on his belt with a snap. The cylinder made a metallic clunk as he set it on the lower console, like it was heavier than it looked.

Hera’s eyes fixed on the object. It was clearly mechanical, having a few switches and a half-moon ring at one end. Then her stomach did a slow, deliberate flip, as if her body realized what she was looking at before she did.

Hera was aware that her mouth was hanging open as she stared at the lightsaber. Somehow, she had never allowed herself to fully believe that Kanan Jarrus had been a Jedi. Now, with the evidence right in front of her, her mind reeled in the attempt to grasp it.

Elbows on his knees and face to the floor, Kanan spoke.

“I was fourteen when it happened. We’d only been in the field for a few months. That” –he nodded to the lightsaber– “I’d only just earned before we set out.” He laced and unlaced his fingers as he chose his next words. “We felt them die. All of them. Killed by their own troopers. I should have died, too, but my mas-” His voice cut off as he chewed on the word. “The only reason I’m alive is because she isn’t. After that, I went into hiding. I knew that if anyone found out who I was or what I was capable of, my life would be over. So I hid it. I hid everything. And I became someone else. Someone smarter than that dumb kid who ran headfirst into a war… and then ran away.”

Hera’s eyes switched from his hands to the top of his head to the lightsaber and back again.

“I didn’t have a lot of time with her, but she said something to me once that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. She told me I shouldn’t get too attached to life as it was in any one moment, but that loving life was a good thing as long as I didn’t let my emotions control me. I think what she meant was that I should always be ready for things to change, no matter what direction they might lead.” Kanan fell silent, but the lilt of his words told Hera that he wasn’t finished. So she waited and she listened like she’d never listened to anyone before.

“I’ve also been thinking a lot about how she died. She didn’t know if I’d make it out or not, but she did it anyway. I guess she died for the _chance_ that I could live.” He sighed wearily. “She was completely dedicated to the Order, but I guess she was dedicated to one thing more than that.”

“The Force?” Hera’s voice blurted out. She tensed, worried that she’d shattered the sacred space created by Kanan’s words. But he continued on the same as before: face to the floor, fingers twining and untwining languidly.

“Her duty,” he said. “I used to spend hours– weeks– wondering why she did what she did. My mast-… she could have done a lot more for this galaxy than I could have done… than I _have_ done…” Kanan’s voice faltered. Hera’s first instinct was to reach out to him, but she didn’t dare move and she didn’t think she could have if she’d tried.

“I think she did it because she believed saving me and fulfilling her duty were the same thing, like saving one person was just as important as saving the whole galaxy. And… maybe she did it because she cared about me.” Kanan coughed a humorless laugh. “I can think of some people who’d’ve said that made her a bad” –he skipped over the next word like it didn’t exist– “but it didn’t. It made her a better one… for all it was worth…”

Kanan breathed deeply just as Hera barely breathed at all. His fingers dismantled the lightsaber as easily as they had put it together, reattaching the pieces to his belt. That symbol of forgotten justice and courage broken in two, hidden in plain sight… Hera’s heart crumpled at the sight of them.

As he stood, Kanan’s hand lingered on the headrest of the co-pilot’s chair. But it was no longer his and he let his hand drop away. “Good luck, Hera,” was all he said, and the door shushed closed behind him.

The cold air pushed on the windows and Hera pulled at it with shallow breathes that ached to go deeper. Her lungs were starving, her head was pounding, her heart… She searched the floor, expecting to see pieces of it scattered all around.

Then the tears came.

They rolled down her cheeks in wave after wave. Behind her shoulders her lekku were cold. They gave a shudder and her body shook. For a second her chest turned to stone and wouldn’t accommodate her lungs. She broke through with a sharp gasp. The air shrieked into her throat and escaped again in wracked sobs, each one more painful than the last. And when all of that air was spent, she pulled it in again, but this time she held it inside. The air made a pocket that she stuffed with every emotion that assailed her. Grief, sadness and anger, loneliness and longing for future joys struck dead. She pushed them all down into that empty cavity and swallowed them into her flesh. But they wouldn’t go in. They wouldn’t be locked away again. ~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the completed thirteenth chapter.
> 
> See Chapter 17, "UPDATES," for more information on this chapter.


	14. Trade

Kanan shuffled forward automatically as the queue shifted. The ship was a dull gray hunk against a dull gray sky. Light, spindly snowflakes stubbornly spiraled down every few feet. They settled onto shoulders and slipped between the metal grating underfoot where it wasn’t packed with dirty, trampled snow. He took in a slow breath. The air smelled of cold and engine grease. Despite his heavy sweater and overcoat, Husera’s damp, frigid air continued to gnaw at his skin.

The ship Kanan had picked was a YV-929, a tramp vessel identical to many he’d hitched a ride on over the years. No customs agents, no bio-scan and, according to the captain, no song mites– or free meals for that matter. Its next stop was a system just this side of the mid rim. It seemed that every time he moved on, Kanan found himself a little farther from the galactic center and that suited him just fine. He figured it was only a matter of time before he fell off the edge of the galaxy altogether.

Stiff, Kanan hefted the bag slung over his shoulder: all of his possessions on his back, moving into another unknown. He wasn’t nervous. He was never nervous. He had a way of finding his way, and enough skills that he’d land a job somewhere eventually. Then again, maybe he’d take a break for a while. He’d put together a fair bit of savings on the _Ghost_ , enough to see him through at least a few weeks of drunken revelry. But somehow the glamor of getting sloshed and fighting off mouthy drunks didn’t hold the same appeal as it once had.

The line moved again and Kanan scooted forward. He rubbed a finger across his chin and scratched at his beard. A part of him was worried that he’d done the wrong thing by telling Hera about his past. Actually, he was more worried that he wasn’t worried. It had been an impulse decision, but it wasn’t like he’d been letting the Force guide him or some other fool-idiotic idea. He’d acted on his own instincts and they’d told him to tell her. He wasn’t sure why, even now that it was over. Maybe that was another mystery for him to work out on sleepless nights.

The queue was only a few people deep now. The first-mate of the ship, a rough-looking Weequay in a fur-lined parka, exchanged a few words with an older couple bundled up to their eyes. They exchanged a few words and he checked their names against a datapad with a long crack in the back. A few more words and they handed over their fares. The Weequay stuffed the credits into the inner pocket of his coat next to a big blaster. Kanan didn’t let his eyes linger on the weapon for long, but he made a mental note. It was always smart to know who had the weapons on these kinds of trips.

Another step forward and the gangway came into view. Kanan peered up. The belly of the ship loomed dark and dim. If there was any warmth to be had on it he couldn’t feel it. He’d hoped that his chosen transport would at least look more welcoming than a mynock’s nest, but it didn’t matter. This trip, like every other before it, would eventually have its end.

The passenger in front of him finished her transaction and Kanan stepped to the front of the line.

“Name?” the Weequay asked barely looking up.

“Jarrus,” he answered hefting his bag again. The cold made holding the strap hard on his fingers, but he wasn’t about to put all of his worldly possessions down in the slush. He shifted the load to the other shoulder.

“Destination?”

“Wor Tandell,” he said and the first-mate raised a spiny eyebrow at him. “It’s not my final stop,” he defended unnecessarily.

The first-mate didn’t respond but asked, “Cargo?”

“Just this,” Kanan nodded to his bag.

The Weequay gave a grunt and tapped something on the datapad. He named the same price that Kanan had heard earlier. Opening his coat to the belt, he reached into the inside pocket. Unlike the first-mate, Kanan knew to keep his money opposite his blaster, out of sight and out of the way.

He was sifting through the credits in his palm when the cold skin on the back of his neck prickled. His head popped up, but sank back down immediately. No. He was imagining it

He returned to counting. “Twenty, thirty-five…”

“-anan!”

This time he craned his head around.

This part of the spaceport was an open plaza with a half-dozen ships, mostly clunky freighters, parked in a loose U-shape. The cul-de-sac between the vessels was a white and gray patchwork of rough grating designed to let the snow fall through and keep people from slipping at the same time. It was no help to Hera. There was a flash of green and gray as she went down hard on the ice. A few passers-by dodged around her, scurrying to their destinations.

“What the hell?” Kanan muttered.

The Weequay cleared his frost-scratched throat.

Kanan closed his fist on the credits. “Give me a minute,” he said.

His boots crunched noisily against the snow. Hera was picking herself up, but having a hard time gaining any purchase with her smooth-soled boots. He switched his grip on the bag again and reached out with his free hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, pulling her to her feet. Even though she was standing she barely came up to his chest. She was hunched over, rubbing her shoulders with stiff hands. She didn’t have a coat on. All she was wearing was that damned worn-out gray jumpsuit with the patch on the leg.

“K-K-Kanan!” Her teeth clattered together like they were going to break. Her lips were already tinted blue.

Kanan muttered a curse, ripped open the rest of his coat and pulled her into his chest. The cold seeped through his clothes like he was hugging an ice-cube. His hand brushed against a lek as he closed the coat around them. It was like a dead snake that was still managing to shiver.

“T-t-trade,” her voice staggered, making her whole body shake.

“What are you talking about?”

“I hav-v-ve to t-t-tell you…”

“Tell me what?”

She turned her face up to his. Eyes watering against the cold air, her cheeks were a painful, swollen burgundy. “T-t-trade you a s-s-s…” she said and shuddered violently enough that he thought her legs would give out.

Unable to take any more of this lunacy, Kanan cursed again and pulled her closer. “C’mon,” he said and hustled them away from the spaceport.

Hera stumbled around his legs, kicking up more snow and slush. “Y-y-your transpor-r-rt…”

“There’ll be another one,” he grumbled.

Behind him an engine roared to life with a few wheezing clunks. He didn’t bother to look back to see if it was the one he’d been in line for.

It was awkward getting back to the _Ghost_. Kanan considered carrying Hera, except that he wouldn’t have been able to juggle both her and his bag, not to mention that it would have expelled her from the warmth of his coat. He wasn’t sure how much good it was doing, half wrapped around the two of them as they shuffled along, but it had to be better than nothing. A few people on the street stopped to stare as they traversed the kilometer between the public spaceport to the individual landing bays. He was fairly sure he looked like some kind of slaver squirreling away a new prize, but no one stopped them. By the time the door to the _Ghost’s_ bay was in sight he was practically pushing Hera along.

Her soft boots scraped against the deck of the cargo-hold, barely able to lift up enough to accommodate the ramp. Kanan hit the button and closed off the _Ghost_ from the sub-zero temperatures. When he got to the ladder he frowned, turning towards the ramp instead. As it lowered he threw down his bag and whisked off his coat, dropping them both to the floor. Hera didn’t move. She was like a frozen mummy, all crossed arms and chin dipped to her chest. Her shivering had evolved into bursts of convulsive shaking.

“Hold on,” he commanded and scooped her into his arms. If Hera had been in a position to argue he knew that he never would have heard the end of it. Luckily, her teeth had clamped shut about five minutes ago.

The warmer air on the main deck of the _Ghost_ washed over his face and made his frozen ears tingle, but he barely noticed it as he made for the fresher. Kanan set Hera down on the closed lid of the toilet before turning the shower on full-blast. Soon steam was curling into the corners of the tiny room and he started unbuckling her gear.

The frost on Hera’s eyelashes was already melting into heavy droplets around her eyes. She cracked one open as he detached her vest and shoulder guards. His cold fingers fumbled with the belt of her flight pants, but with a sharp tug he pulled them off along with her boots, throwing everything out the door into the galley. The rest of Hera’s clothes came off easily enough. He slowed down when he got to her goggles and flight cap. A shuttering hiss escaped Hera’s cracked lips as he peeled them off of her sagging lekku. Finally she was down to a set of skin-tight undergarments. The black contrasted powerfully with her green skin and would have been sexy if she hadn’t been shaking so badly.

Kanan slid open the door to the shower and tested the water. It was a fraction below scalding. “Here we go,” he said.

Hera sucked air between her teeth when the hot water hit her frigid skin. Kanan helped her to slide down the wall to the floor where she drew her knees up to her chest. She turned to look at him with wide eyes, her chin trembling along with her lekku. Kanan blinked once against the steam and closed the doors.

As he scooped up Hera’s clothes onto the table, Kanan made a face at the dank feeling of wet therma-wool clinging to his arms. A few minutes later he was dressed in his last two shirts. He straightened out the sleeves and began folding Hera’s things into a semblance of order. As the water cut in the shower, he placed them back on the floor outside the fresher door. He wasn’t halfway out of the galley when the door cracked opened. He couldn’t help himself and looked back.

Hera had a towel around her body and was squatting down to gather up her clothes, her wet undergarments clutched in one hand.

“I’ll go hide in the cargo-hold,” he said ducking out of the galley as quickly as possible. His foot had just hit the hallway floor when a scratchy rendition of her voice called after him.

“Cockpit!”

Kanan stopped. With a deep sigh and a tilt of his head he changed direction.

Hoping to conserve some heat, Kanan closed the door behind him. His eyes skimmed over the room. It was strange to be back so soon in a place he’d planned on never seeing again. He settled his weight against the terminal behind the pilot’s chair and scrubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. What was he doing back here? He was gone. Leaving. Why did he– what did she–?

Soft feet padded up the hallway and the door to Hera’s cabin opened and closed.

He shook his head. Whatever she had to say, he’d let her say it. Then he’d be back at the spaceport. This didn’t change anything.

Kanan straightened up when the door slid open a few minutes later. Hera was back in her usual orange and white with the addition of a coarse, caf-brown sweater that was too long for her arms. She’d switched her usual flight cap for a thick, black head-wrap that covered half the length of her lekku. When she saw him she hesitated, as if she hadn’t been sure he would still be there.

Hera cleared her throat. “Thank you for waiting,” she rasped over the words.

Kanan tightened his arms over his chest. “You said you had something to tell me? A trade or something?”

“Yes.” Hera folded her arms and unfolded them. She leaned against the chair opposite him, fingering the headrest like she couldn’t decide whether or not to sit down. She looked tired.

“What is it then?” he asked sinking into the chair.

Hera followed his lead and slid into the other seat. She pulled the sweater closer around her body. “I wanted to tell you… a story,” she finally settled on a word.

“Okay.” He drew the word out, hoping he didn’t sound too patronizing.

“It’s a custom we have on Ryloth,” she said. Her voice was already regaining some of its velvety tones, but the frigid Huseran winter still clung to the edges. “If someone trusts you with a secret, you’re supposed to give them a secret back, especially if it’s one that’s worth their life.” Kanan blinked at her. Face cast down, her shoulders were dwarfed by the giant sweater. “You left before I could tell you mine,” she said quietly.

Kanan’s heart beat heavily. This hadn’t been his intention when he’d told Hera about his past. He hadn’t really had an intention, but this definitely wasn’t it. “Hera, you don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do.” She finally met his eyes, chin held high. He saw now that her eyes weren’t just red from the cold; she’d been crying. “Will you listen?” she asked.

Kanan let a deep breath in and out. “If it’s important enough for you freeze yourself half to death chasing me down, then I guess I better hear it,” he said and set his fists on his knees. “Shoot.”

Hera closed her eyes as if hearing those words was a relief, and began.

“You know that I grew up on Ryloth, during the Clone Wars and the Imperial occupation,” she said. “My family’s been fighting for Ryloth’s freedom since before I was born. At first we were politicians, but things got bad under the Separatists, and then under the Empire they got worse.” Her fists tightened around the too-long sleeves of her sweater. “My family went into hiding, but my parents wouldn’t give up. My mother…” Hera bit her lip. “She died in a raid getting medical supplies. I was eleven.”

Kanan’s chest tightened sharply, like an open wound had jumped from her to him. He wondered for a second if he hadn’t unconsciously connected to her through the Force, but he wasn’t sensing her presence in the same way. No, he didn’t need the Force to feel the anguish that steeped these words; it was visceral enough on its own.

Hera took a deep, shaky breath. Her eyes flitted up at him and back down again just as quickly. “My mother died and my father dedicated his life to fighting the Empire. I barely saw him and even when I did, I didn’t kn- he wasn’t...” Hera choked something back. She pursed her lips, focusing on the words, and said, “My father is Cham Syndulla.”

Kanan had planned to keep his face a mask, but his eyebrows shot up at this. Everyone knew the name “Cham Syndulla,” the leader of the terrorist group Free Ryloth, the one that had made an assassination attempt on the Emperor five years ago in a spectacular political disaster. Kanan had always assumed it was a coincidence that Cham and Hera had the same family name. As he understood it, Twi’lek clans were fairly enormous. But it made perfect sense: her hatred for the Empire, her self-discipline, her fighting skills…

Hera continued, her voice growing more impassioned as she spoke. “After my father attacked the Emperor, they came for our family. He sent me off-world to hide, but I was finished hiding. I was finished watching people suffer and die in the Empire’s choke-hold… I knew that the only way my home was going to be free was if the galaxy was free. And I knew there was more I could do outside of Free Ryloth than I could do inside of it… so, I left.”

Kanan’s mouth opened and closed. She had left her home planet. She had left her family, her people… everything. She’d left them all behind.

“You said that you’d been thinking. I’ve been thinking, too, about what I’m fighting for and what I’m running towards… and away from.” Hera’s hands were curled into fists on her knees, like his. But where his posture was a stiff gesture of respectful attention, hers betrayed a web of memories and emotions that were fighting tooth and nail to keep from being dragged into the light.

“You were right, what you said before. I _am_ scared, but I didn’t know what I was scared _of_ , so I couldn’t face it.” Her eyes softened as she studied the patterns on the floor. “Turns out, I’m scared of…” She blinked against the words, holding her breath. “I lost my mother, and my father. I thought that… I couldn’t lose you, too, if I never had you. But I was wrong.”

Kanan’s heart had stopped a few beats ago. If he was breathing he wasn’t aware of it. If his blood was still moving through his veins, keeping him alive, he wasn’t conscious of it. He reached for her and stopped, his fingers curling back. No. This wasn’t what he thought it was. This didn’t change anything.

Hera’s head dropped a fraction and her left lek slid against the coarse fibers of her sweater. “So that’s what I wanted to tell you,” she said. “That’s my trade.”

They breathed together, shoulders rising and falling. No words. No speaking. Only wounds and memories slowly dragging their claws down the battle-worn lengths of long-scarred hearts.

Something flashed in the corner of Kanan’s eye. On the other side of the viewport the leaden sky was even darker now that the day was slipping away. The snow had started again, obscuring the far side of the city in a smoky veil.

_You must learn to rule them lest they rule you…_

Kanan’s mouth quirked at the corner. Emotions were valuable, but they were also dangerous. Like fire, emotions could either serve you– keep you warm, give you light– or they could destroy you– burn your hands, burn your home, burn your heart. Hera’s fear had pushed her away from him, just as his affection had made him want more than she was ready to give. It looked like they were both still padawans in love and war.

His voice gently pushed aside the soft hush of the far-off snow. “I’ll tell you one more secret,” he said.

Hera sniffled once and dabbed her nose with her sleeve. Her eyes flicked up and down, but finally settled on his face. “What is it?”

“I don’t want to leave.” He smiled sadly, with that ironic twist at the edge.

Hera’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I’ll trade you one back,” she said. “I don’t want you to leave, either.”

Kanan pressed his hands into legs. “One more?”

She nodded.

“I’m crazy about you.”

Hera made a hiccuping noise that might have been a laugh. “Trade you back,” she dabbed her nose again. “I’m crazy about you, too.”

He was close to her now, on the edge of his chair, hands aching to reach out, but stuck to his knees like they were frozen together. “I’ll follow you anywhere,” he said.

“To the battlefield?” she asked with a helpless shrug, knowing full well what she was asking and what she was risking.

“Through it,” he said. “Whatever’s on the other side, we’ll find it, and if we can’t find it– ”

“–we’ll build it.”

And with that they wrapped their arms around one another in an embrace tighter than anything either one of them had felt in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the completed fourteenth chapter.


	15. Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanan and Hera share the intimacy of their first time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The majority of this chapter is "sexy times." For those who would rather keep the details to their imagination, please read the first and last sections as denoted by the " * * * " mark.

The snow fell outside, forming little drifts on the muntins in the viewport where the eddying wind brought it into the landing bay. But Hera and Kanan didn’t see it. They were busy elsewhere.

Kanan’s hands traced down her bare arms. She trembled as his callouses scratched lightly over her skin, but she wasn’t cold. The room was warm enough that neither one of them had shivered as they took off their clothes. It helped that Kanan had turned up the heat when he’d gotten back onto the _Ghost_ and that Hera’d turned it up even more on her way out of the fresher. It was the first time Hera had been in Kanan’s cabin since she’d shown it to him three months ago. But Kanan had seen her in here many times before in the blinks that separated wakefulness from sleep.

Hera peeled off her heavy head-wrap. Slowly freeing it from her lekku, it snaked its way down the tails and fell on top of the rest of her clothes piled in the corner. She was back down to skin-tight black thermal underwear. Unlike when she had been shivering in the fresher, Kanan allowed himself to take in the sight of her now. From head to toe she was perfection. The white tattoos in her lekku glowed against the soft green of her skin. Narrow shoulders gave way to lean muscles in her arms. But most enticing of all was her face. Her eyes were dark and sensual and her mouth was pulled up in a subtle smile that told him he was in for something unexpected. And Kanan Jarrus liked the sound of that.

 

*  *  *

 

Hera’s heart was pounding against her ribcage so hard she was sure that Kanan would see it fluttering in the soft play of light and shadows. His long hair hung loose above his shoulders and shadowed his face in the warm light. With tentative fingers she touched his bare skin. Her fingertips glided over the broad planes and sharp curves. The fine curls of hair that accented his chest and stomach were softer than she’s expected. His own fingertips trailed behind her shoulders and drifted to the small of her back, making her quiver. Like her, he was stripped down to his underthings, simple gray boxer-briefs as utilitarian as her own thermal sports bra and underwear. The fabric didn’t provide much more than a symbolic barrier between them, but she was glad it was there. She didn’t want to rush into this. Not with him. Not after they’d waited so long.

Kanan took a half-step closer. When their bare skin met, Hera’s heart redoubled its pace. The warmth of his body magnetic. She pressed her palms into the muscles surrounding the valley of his spine and Kanan tightened his arms around her until there was no air between them but what they shared.

They had kissed before, but this was different because it held no hesitation. Their lips moved in slow, unhurried arcs. The taste of him filled her mouth. The smell of him filled her lungs: warmth and metal, but with something else, something she liked. Her lips curled up at the edges. He smelled like engine grease.

Kanan must have felt her smile because he joined her, breaking off the caress. They stood with their foreheads pressed together, smiling without reserve. After a few excited breaths she pushed onto her toes and he hunched down slightly to accommodate the trail of kisses that led up his jaw-line to his ear. Kanan gave a throaty sigh when she took his earlobe between her lips.

At that moment, something mischievous came over Hera. It was the same deep consciousness that had taken her by surprise when she’d straddled Kanan in the co-pilot’s chair, but this time it was speaking its wordless language more eloquently. Hera let the consuming desire flood up inside of her as an irrepressible sigh escaped her chest.

She released Kanan’s ear and sauntered to his bunk. As she crawled onto it, she cast him a teasing smile over her shoulder, one lek falling across her back. Kanan ducked underneath with a boyish smirk, careful of his head. His mouth was on her hip in another instant. His thumb hooked under the waistband of her underwear. As the moist tingle of his lips traveled up her body, Hera rose onto her knees, partially crouched under the overhead bunk. Kanan didn’t break stride, but continued in an unbroken line over her ribs, between her breasts and up the length of her throat. One hand lingered at the edge of her bra as if debating whether to pull it down or up, but he did neither because that’s when Hera pinned him.

Kanan’s back hit the bunk with a thud. His dark hair was fanned out around his head. She rolled the ends of it between her fingers contemplatively and kissed him again, sucking lightly on first his top lip and then the bottom. Meanwhile, his hands skated over the curve of her rear. They stayed like that for a long time: Hera gently tugging Kanan’s hair, Kanan massaging the tender skin where her backside met her legs.

Slowly, inexorably, Kanan’s hands converged. He moved a single finger over the damp spot and swallowed up Hera’s gasp with the rest of her kisses. She tilted her hips into his hands as he scratched lightly at the thin fabric with his fingernails, making it vibrate. When he did this over the sensitive skin at the rear edge, a jolt shot through Hera’s body. She broke off their kiss and pressed her eyes closed. All she could see was what he was doing to her. It made her heart weak and her palms desperate.

Kanan’s hands moved to the edges of her underwear, slipped underneath and he finally touched her in earnest. His fingers were slick as they caressed every part of her from front to back, every crease and fold. Her jaw tingled, making her mouth water. One at a time, his fingers ran over the most sensitive part of her body and she gave a twitch with every one. A single finger traced downwards and pressed into her, not entering, but teasing the delicate flesh hidden there.

Hera grabbed onto the edge of the sleeping pad for dear sanity. The hormones spilled over their banks and washed through her with an irrepressible wave. Endorphins, oxytocin and dopamine flooded every artery and vein. Hera’s lekku went taught with the rest of her body and rode out the undulations with a combination of pleasure and shock. If she cried out, it was nothing more than a quiet squeak choked off by her fight for air. As she peaked, a rush of electricity ran up through her arms and a tide of warmth spread down her legs. By the time the sensations ebbed Hera was gasping. She drew in deep breaths and had to consciously unknit her brow to see again. Slowly, deliberately, she opened her eyes to find Kanan watching her. Hera blushed through labored breaths when she realized that the expression on his face was best described as wonder.

 

*  *  *

 

Kanan hadn’t expected Hera to come. That hadn’t been his intention when he’d started massaging her under her underwear. But she had. She’d responded enthusiastically to his touch, barely holding herself at bay as she climbed higher and higher up the ladder until there was nothing left to do but jump off. Kanan had watched, transfixed, as her body tensed and her shoulders squared, then relaxed. Lips parted, breath frantic, she made hardly a sound when it hit, gripping the sleeping pad above his head like it was her line to life.

Now she lay slumped on his chest. Her bleary eyes searched his face before wandering around the room. Seeing her go through all that up close and personal, Kanan had only one thought screaming though his brain: Hera’ flushed face gasping beneath him, fingers entwined in his hair, her legs wrapped around his hips as he drove into her again and again.

His erection pushed against his boxers, bumping into her body like it was reaching out. He wanted to see her like that so badly that it ached. But no matter what his body was craving he knew that Hera wouldn’t be ready to go again this soon, if she wanted to go again at all.

With the practiced control of mind over body, Kanan pushed down the energy that pulsed through his muscles and electrified his skin. After a minute he was sure he could move and speak without falling back into the blurry vortex of desire. Hera was calming, too. She breathed deeply until her face was smooth again. There was a hissing sound as she released her grip on the sleeping pad and air found its way back into the cushion.

“Wasn’t meaning… to do that,” she gasped. She eased off of him and rolled to the narrow space next to the wall. The light pooled on the flat expanse of her stomach, pulled into the shadow of her belly-button like it was a singularity in space. He reached for one of her hands and brought her fingers to his lips. His kisses were chaste at first, but the idleness of the moment got to him and soon he was sucking on her fingertips.

Hera cracked open one eye. When he caught her watching, his lips broke into a sultry smirk.

“Too soon?” His voice rumbled even more deeply than usual.

Hera shook her head, surrounded by her lekku like a headdress. Her movements were sluggish, but the glint in her eye was full of fire. “I want to,” she said. “I want you.”

If Kanan had felt a thrill when Hera had kissed him in the cargo-hold, if he had been excited when she’d crawled into his lap in the co-pilot’s chair, if he’d been elated when she’d told him that she was crazy about him, too, he was floored by what she said now. Hearing her voice– that sensual, velvety voice– say that she wanted him, Kanan Jarrus, was more joy than he could have hoped for in his dark and rocky lifetime.

Hera rolled on top of him, planting a full-bodied kiss onto his mouth. When she broke off he was breathless. “There’s no hurry,” he whispered even as he wrapped his arms around her.

Hera nibbled his lip, causing him to moan. She laughed quietly, slipped off the bed and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to undress in front of him, she removed the rest of her clothing.

Even though the light was dim, it was more than enough for Kanan to see every centimeter of the woman he’d been in love with since the moment they’d first met: strong and muscular, but still womanly and soft in all the right places. He kept his eyes on the way her lekku swung behind her shoulders, barely brushing against her skin. The white tattoos glowed against the green. He opened his mouth, but no words would come out. In truth there were none that he could come up with to describe the way she looked to him.

Hera gave a deep-toned laugh and closed the distance. She kept her eyes on his and gently pushed him back onto the bed. Kanan complied, grinning like a madman. Her body was coiled and tight under his hands, like a wild animal’s. She made for the waistband of his underwear, carefully lifted the edge and pulled them down. Kanan closed his eyes and rested his head back, basking in the euphoria.

“Just one?” Hera asked.

“ _What?!_ ” Kanan jerked up and almost hit his head on the top bunk.

Hera chuckled lightly and discarded the last piece of clothing between them. “Just kidding, love,” she said.

“You think you’re funny?” he asked, his shock fading quickly into something more playful.

“I have my moments.” Hera made her way back on top of him, but she took her time. Her fingertips moved along the most sensitive parts of his skin making him shudder and gasp. He was eager to hear those same sounds from her again. He was sure he could get her to make them and a lot more.

Kanan trailed his fingers up her ribcage to her exposed breasts. They fit nicely into his hands and he massaged them gently, running his thumbs over her nipples. Foreplay was one of Kanan’s favorite things about sex– not that the actual, full-bodied act wasn’t a slice of pure heaven– but the road there, with its trials and tribulations, was just as enjoyable as the destination. And he wanted to enjoy every step of the journey with Hera.

Enthralled, Kanan watched as Hera trailed caresses down the length of his body. Her tongue slid across the skin under his belly-button and Kanan bit his lip in anticipation. When her mouth reached its destination he took in a halting breath that couldn’t find its way back out again.

She took her time and seemed to have a plan in mind. First she used only the tip of her tongue to test his flesh, both soft and hard. She outlined the ridges of the tip and warmed the shaft with her breath. Gradually she started using her lips– not only on the main attraction, but on the tender skin surrounding it as well. She snuck her hand over his abdomen and held him steady at the base while she worked. Now pulling, now pushing, now spiraling her tongue from tip to base and back again. Sometimes her hands focused on one area while her mouth concentrated on another. Sometimes they worked in tandem. That was the style Kanan liked the best, and Hera was good at it. Throughout the act Hera ran her fingertips through his hair, electrifying the delicate skin beneath.

It was quickly becoming impossible for Kanan to keep his cool. Not only was she good, but she was _her_. The sight of her mouth on his body and her hands touching every part of him was spellbinding. He watched her for as long as he could before his eyes closed of their own accord. He was struggling to keep his world from going dark. He didn’t want his first time with Hera to be interrupted again so soon. But after a few more minutes of mind-numbing pleasure he was face to face with the point of no return and knew it was time to make a move.

Gently taking Hera by the shoulders, Kanan planted a kiss on Hera’s nose even as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Hera scooted herself up on the bunk and he prepared to pull her up next to him while he recuperated, but to his surprise she pulled him on top of her.

Kanan had dreamed of seeing Hera this way many times, but the reality was more dazzling than anything he had ever imagined. Her lekku were spread out behind her in gracefully arcs. Her face was flushed. Her chest rose and fell in deep, excited breaths. She had never looked more beautiful and that was really saying something. When she looked up at him, it was as if he were the only other being in the entire galaxy. He knew that she was seeing the same thing from him, because that’s how he always looked at her. There was no one else for him besides Hera.

With one hand, Hera guided him to the gateway, warm and welcoming, like it was calling him home. They kissed and Kanan made his push. Hera’s moan stifled under his mouth. Something about the sound had a primeval beauty. She clutched at his bare back and he pushed again. She moaned again. Kanan’s blood grew hotter by the second. That voice… Another push and she pulled up her legs, digging her heels into the sleeping pad. They were moving together now, carefully and deliberately. Several times in the past Kanan had lost patience in these moments and given himself over to passion and wildness. But he had no desire to do that now, even _if_ his instincts were screaming at him to sprint towards the finish-line. Kanan called on all of his strength to keep himself from losing focus.

He pushed as deeply as he could go and Hera gave a satisfying sigh. Her fingers pulled at the hair at the back of his skull. It was aggressive and Kanan liked it. Her muscles tightened around his member and he let his own voice join hers. In his head Kanan searched for the right way to describe what he was feeling. Many words came to mind: warm, good, heaven… but only one rang completely true. _Right_. Being with Hera was right.

When her breathing lost its frantic edge and he was sure that he was in control of himself, Kanan prepared to continue, but Hera caught him off guard for the third time. She rolled them on the bunk until she was on top.

It was Hera who was making them go faster now. Dull, warm pleasure seeped up his abdomen and down his legs. He only joined her a little, half afraid he’d knock her head against the top bunk. Her lekku dangled over her shoulders and he stroked one from the base to the tip, gripping it gently in his hand. Hera closed her eyes and craned her neck, pressing her lips into a sultry pout. Encouraged, he did the same to the other one. By the time he got to the tip Hera bent to kiss him.

“How do you know to do that?” she asked.

“Seemed natural. Want me to do it again?” He gave a little thrust and savored her gasp.

Hera smiled. “Yes.”

With both hands he gently stroked her lekku while she slowly writhed on top of him. Her face was a complicated combination of bliss and agony. She arched her neck and back, pulling up as he gently pulled down. As he completed another round and reached for the next she turned her face and kissed his hand. Soon she was sucking on his fingertips. Her pink tongue flashed out wet and shining. It was one of the most erotic things he had ever seen. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at him with flushed desire. The time had come.

Kanan sat up and took Hera’s hands in his own, intertwining their fingers. They kissed and she laid down on her back inviting him on top again. They moved their hands by her head, encircled by her lekku. Hera raised her hips and he entered her with an easy slide that made his skin tingle. They were both covered in sweat now. The image of Hera gasping beneath him filled Kanan’s mind. The sound of her breath and her voice filled his ears. The scent of their bodies combined became the air he breathed. He was close to the edge and this time he had no intention of backing away.

A shudder ran through Hera’s body. Her breathing caught in her throat. Her muscles contracted round him at the same time that she gasped for air. “ _Kanan!_ ” She whispered his name as if she were crying out for help and that was the last straw for Kanan Jarrus. His world went black and surged with light at the same time. He was keenly aware of their bodies pressed together and Hera’s fingers intertwined with his own. She was holding onto him just as much as he was holding onto her.

 

*  *  *

 

What is the first thing that you say to someone after sleeping with them? Do you ask them how they’re feeling? Do you compliment them? Do you tell them that they’re beautiful beyond measure and that they make you feel the same way? These were questions Hera had never been able to answer and which had always made the minutes following her few fumbles into intimacy that much more awkward. This time was the exception.

Hera curled her body around Kanan’s, wrapped in the soft, hazy blanket of the afterglow. He slung his arm around her naked body and pulled her into him, humming contently. They said nothing because nothing needed to be said. They only breathed together and settled into one another, warm and new and splendidly familiar.

Outside, the Huseran night passed, long and quiet under the falling snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the completed fifteenth chapter.


	16. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera and Kanan leave Husera for their next adventure.

Captain Hera Syndulla settled easily into the pilot’s seat. She flipped three switches overhead and checked the monitors before bringing the sub-light engines online. The familiar hum of a healthy _Ghost_ reverberated through the hull and echoed off the frost-webbed permacrete of the docking bay.

“Hoffin Control, this is _Expedient Two_ requesting permission to lift off.” Kanan’s voice was easy and professional as he gave the fake moniker.

Static crackled from the other side. “ _Expedient Two_ , this is Hoffin Control. Stand by for approved ascent vector.”

“Roger that, Control. Transmit when ready.” Kanan’s screen blinked with a series of letters and numbers. After giving them a brief assessment he cloned them over to Hera’s display. “Vector received,” he said. “ _Expedient Two_ taking off. Thanks for the memories.”

“Copy that, _Expedient_ ,” control crackled. “We hope to see you again.”

Kanan flipped off the comm and leaned back as Hera guided the _Ghost_ out of the bay. Low, gray-white clouds churned with new snow. She kept one eye on the pathway demarcated by Control and the other on the sky. With all the industrial traffic moving in and out of the area and kilometer-thick clouds blanketing the northern pole, flying inside the lines was more essential than usual.

The _Ghost_ soon sailed into the pitch-white. After a minute of blindness they broke above the stratosphere and the air cleared into a pale blue morning rapidly dissolving into black. Pinpoints of starlight speckled the fading colors as the engines quieted to a gentle purr.

“Clearing planetary gravity. All space traffic is moving normally.”

Hera nodded absently at Kanan’s report. There was a slight shift as the _Ghost_ eased into artificial gravity and she moved the ship farther away from the planet and into open space. The field of stars opened up in front of her.

Kanan swiveled around in his chair. “I’m guessing you want to enter the next set of hyperspace coordinates on your own?” he asked although it wasn’t really a question.

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded, still enjoying the feeling of the _Ghost_ gliding effortlessly through the black.

“I’ll get us some food.” He set a hand on Hera’s shoulder as he stood up and let his fingers trail easily off of her.

She acknowledged the gesture with a smile which he returned in a brief glance before opening the door.

Hera’s lekku swayed easily as she returned her attention to the controls. She called up the navigation computer and entered her coordinates. Chopper would be glad to see her in his own way, and she would be glad to see him, too. The time away had been… Busy? Complicated? Unexpected?

Worth it.

She hit the final okay and listened to the hyperdrive come online. Hera pushed the lever and the star points stretched out before her once again.

She was still smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the completed epilogue.


	17. On Another Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the opening scene to the sequel, "On Another Job," which can be found right here on Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/13483464/chapters/30917178.
> 
> This chapter's pretty sexy, so be warned and enjoy! (^_-)☆

Chapter 1

_Coming In_

  

Hera had surprised him and now he was trapped. Not that he had any plans to escape. Maybe that’s what trapped him more than anything else.

Kanan gently banged the back of his head against the doorframe, pressing it into the sharp metal. He reached out, but then stopped, took the empty air into his fists and settled for pressing his palms into the bulkhead behind him.

Hera’s mouth was deep on him now, her tongue sliding over his skin as her hands kneaded his hips. With an exhale of hot air, she let him slide out of her mouth and Kanan dared to look down. Her bright green eyes stared back, made brighter by the dark flush in her cheeks. A cunning smile pulled at her lips.

He wanted to smile back, but all he could manage were a few labored breaths before the wet heat of her mouth swallowed him up again. His eyes pulled closed.

It wasn’t the first time Hera had done this to him, but it was the first time she’d done in the cockpit, and the first time she hadn’t bothered to get him even partially undressed. That, combined with the aggressive, steady rhythm she worked into him now had Kanan ready to burst.

His mind was a blank. His body teetered. As usual, it was the sound of her voice humming into his flesh that pushed him over the edge. There was a rush of blood and energy that felt like his life-force was being pulled out of him– and he was happy to give it. As Hera’s breath passed over his wet skin, Kanan squeezed his eyes tighter. His muscles were liquid. He was barely keeping himself upright. Finally, he was free.

“You’re… getting good,” he managed between heavy breathes.

A chuckle escaped Hera’s throat, satisfied at reducing him into a languid mass of useless jelly. He cracked an eye. Her lips were sealed in an awkward line, but her eyes were glistening. In fact, her whole face glowed. Kanan couldn’t keep a smile from meandering its way onto his face– not that she needed the extra vindication. He was about to stumble out a few more syllables to that effect when the door burst open.

“ _Brrr-mrr-rrr!_ ” Chopper groused indignantly as Kanan jumped away in spite of his sluggish muscles. He turned his back, stuffing himself back into his pants as quickly as possible, while the metallic, orange-domed menace shook on its struts and exploded into a string of whirrs and whoops. Hera sidestepped around him and slipped into the hallway.

“Wait! Where’re you going?” Kanan reached for Hera only to pull back as Chopper lurched forward menacingly.

Already half-way down the hall, Hera turned around and shrugged. She pointed to her closed mouth, still glistening at the edge.

Chopper’s dome swiveled towards its owner. “ _Whrrr-brrrrr!_ ”

Hera’s eyes went serious. She set a hand on her hip and pointed first at Chopper and then at Kanan. He could practically hear her ordering them to, _Play nice_ before she continued on to the fresher. Chopper huffed and muttered with the click of unseen gears.

Using the distraction, Kanan finished zipping up his pants. The hormones were still thick in his veins, but he got everything back in place gracefully enough. With one hand on the wall he took a deep breath. Sweet oxygen filled his lungs. She was getting _very_ good.

Another deep breath and Kanan’s spine prickled, but this time it wasn’t in a good way. With a wary eye, he looked over his shoulder.

The droid’s photo-receptors trained on Kanan. The old C1 unit’s scratched orange dome shifted restlessly back and forth as it watched him, emitting discontented noises.

As casually as he could, Kanan put the tactical station chair between him and the rolling scrap-heap. It’d been two days since Chopper’d last attacked him, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He still had bruises on his shins from the first time, now almost a month ago.

The little droid growled something to itself that Kanan couldn’t make out. He was still learning Chopper’s unusually colorful binary dialect, but whatever it said sounded a lot like “space meat.” Kanan wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but he was sure it wasn’t a compliment.

Trying not to look overly wary, he made it to his co-pilot’s seat with Chopper only advancing a few inches. After swiveling so that the little droid was in his line of sight, he reached for the datapad on the console. A few blind gropes and it was in his hands. Kanan flicked on the display, glanced again at the softly grumbling droid and opened the destination log.

Polis Massa. Pulverized planet now an asteroid on the edge of space. No one visited here. No one had any reason. It’d taken them two days just to get into the right hyperspace lane. The Polis Massa asteroid field and its single settlement were such a tiny footnote on the map of the galaxy that a normal person would have mistaken it for a smudge. But Hera wasn’t a normal person, he remembered with a wry smile. And neither was he, for that matter.

Kanan pushed his finger along the edge of the screen to the notes segment. Hera kept the most cryptic yet detailed notes of anyone he’d ever met. In another life she might have made a good spy. Come to think of it– that was exactly the life she was leading to some degree, wasn’t it?

The notes were about what he expected: dry details about docking fees and customs inspections. From the look of things, Polis Massa’s port authority was in top shape, dotting every Shen and crossing every Enth. A place this far out from civilization would have to be strict if it wanted to keep from becoming an enclave for pirates and smugglers… Or Imperials. Kanan made a face as a scenario unfolded in his mind. Bit by bit the lonely asteroid became a haven for spice traders and slavers until the Empire the Empire couldn’t ignore its presence any more. They would “intervene” and set up “regulations” of the planetoid’s business. Slavery and illicit drugs were only outlawed in name; the Empire was the biggest name in the flesh trade; it just called its chattel “political prisoners” instead of “slaves.” Sure, they could have used droids, but organics were cheaper. In Palpatine’s galaxy droids were an expensive investment that needed to be maintained and serviced. By contrast, organics would be used up and thrown away with little change in production. After all, in Palpatine’s galaxy there was no shortage of political malcontents to turn into political prisoners.

_Zzzappp!_

Kanan leapt back onto the control console and out of range of Chopper’s electro-shock prod. The datapad flipped end over end through the air and smashed against the floor.

“What the-” he spat even as the droid rolled forward, prongs sparking.

Kanan snarled an oath just as his hand slipped, sending his elbow crashing into the console. The cabin lights jolted to emergency red. An ugly alarm blared.

 _“Port access hatch opening. Port access hatch opening. Prepare for decompression…”_ announced the recorded warning placidly.

Chopper’s orange dome rotated full around as two mechanical service arms popped out. Screeching a long chain of insults, the droid reached for the console, but Kanan put his boot to its photoreceptors and kicked it away. As the droid clanged against the rear tactical chair, Kanan spun on the control panel and began pushing buttons furiously. The blaring alarm cut short.

_“Decompression about to commen- Port access hatch resealing. Stand by for safety checks.”_

With a rising mechanical groan like a battle cry, Chopper rammed into Kanan’s legs at full speed. The human fell back into the co-pilot’s chair and swiveled out of Chopper’s reach as its pincer snapped after him, denied its prize. Kanan didn’t wait to come back into range, but leap out of the chair and into the corner, ducking to keep from hitting his head on the bulkhead. On the other side of the chair, the droid’s electro prod buzzed and popped.

“Chopper!”

 

The little C1 unit pulled its prod back in so fast there was a rush of air as it closed the front cover.

Kanan didn’t leave his place against the wall. “You’re droid’s trying to kill me again!”

Chopper flopped its metal arms. _“Brr-mrrr-ww-rrr-bww!”_

“It’s not an exaggeration!” he snapped back.

The shattered datapad crunched under Hera’s foot as she swept to the front of the cockpit.  Chopper leaned away and Kanan was secretly relieved to have Hera between them even for a second. A few deft adjustments later and the lighting returned to a healthy glow.

Hera whirled around. Her lekku whipped over her shoulders. “What do you two think you’re doing?” she asked looking between them, left and right.

“Me?” Kanan gawked at the same time Chopper shook on its struts. _“Mmr?”_

“Yes. Both of you. Explain now!”

Kanan jabbed a finger at Chopper. “It tried to electrocute me,” he said. “I slipped on the console trying to get away and-”

“The ship almost decompressed?” She cut off his words. “Yeah. I got that part.” She leaned in towards Chopper. “And you?” she asked. “What’s your excuse?”

The robot gesticulated with its service arms, but only mumbled a few indistinct syllables. Its dome swiveled slowly to the side until its photoreceptors rested on Kanan. With another series of rough clicks it erupted into a string of binary whirs.

_“Hrr-grr-meep-wop-wop! Err-errrrr-wop-meep-wop-brrrrrr!”_

“I did not!” shouted Kanan.

_“Hrr-hrr-mmr!”_

“I seriously doubt that.” Hera crossed her arms and scowled.

Chopper looked between its owner, Kanan, and back again. With a final sharp grunt it kicked out its center wheel and sped away down the hallway only to turn a sharp left into one of the spare cabins. The door slid shut and locked with an audible clang.

Hera let out a huff of air. She shook her head and pushed off the console.

Extricating himself from behind the co-pilot’s chair, Kanan said, “I know you have a soft spot for that droid, but it’s buggier than that job we did from Brase to Husera.”

Hera rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry he did that to you. I’ll… talk to him again.”

“Just like you did the last five times?” He shook his head. “Why don’t you get its memory wiped or something?”

She watched the locked door at the far end of the hall. Shrugging, she threw up her palms. “Chopper’s special to me. Important. If I take away his memories I take away… _him_.”

“Okay, but what about a partial wipe? Just the personality subroutines or something?”

She shook her head and her lekku swayed limply. “You don’t understand. Chopper’s been with me from the very beginning. We’ve made so many modifications to the _Ghost_ together. There’s no one who knows the ship better.”

“Yes, there is. _You_.” Kanan corrected. Hera flashed a little smile his way, but her attention was still on the locked door. _“_ What could a droid possibly know about the _Ghost_ better than you?”

Hera looked at him again. This time her smile was the little shy one she used when she was trying to be modest. Or he had just asked a stupid question without realizing it. “Like how to bypass the compressor without blowing us all to stardust,” she said.

Kanan blinked. “Well, okay, that’s pretty important. But you’re telling me that you couldn’t do that yourself?”

“In a pinch, sure,” she shrugged, folding her arms. “But I have Chopper so that I don’t have to. And if we were in that much trouble, then you can bet I’d be too busy flying the ship and keeping us alive to unbolt the access hatch and reroute the wiring.”

There is was again: another reminder of the crazy world he’d stepped into. Where once he had chosen his dangerous paths (usually down dark alleys or seedy bars), now the trouble was looking for him. It was right behind him, waiting at every waystation and refueling stop. It was something he hadn’t gotten used to yet and wondered if he ever would. Or could.

Kanan pushed on the headrest of his chair, rotating it idly back and forth. His voice was soft. “Just talk to… Chopper. Okay?” he said.

Hera nodded. “I will.”

“I mean it,” he said, sidling up to stand beside her. She leaned her weight against him, but kept her eyes on the hallway. “I... want this to work.”

When Hera looked up at him, her face was painted with pain and hope in equal parts. She glanced at his lips and they leaned together. After a soft embrace, Hera pulled away. The proximity alarm was flashing. Without another word she took her usual seat and Kanan followed suit.

“Prepare to come out of hyperspace,” she said and took the controls.

His hands passed easily over the console. “Preparing to enter realspace.”

The eerie blue churn gave way to star lines and then star lines turned to dots in the black, a black dominated by a great cloud of brown and silver dust. The system’s star was a fractured glow behind a fog of debris hundreds of kilometers thick. Beams of sunlight and shadow passed over the _Ghost_ in a stark procession as the ship approached the asteroid field. Although the cataclysm that pulverized the original planet occurred millions of years ago, the remnants only stretched halfway around the planetary orbit, meaning that the object density was thin enough to maneuver through as long as a reasonable speed was maintained.

And Hera did maintain a reasonable speed. There were half a dozen ships in the transport lanes ahead of them, weaving their way through the asteroids in both directions. A cursory scan revealed that all of the ships were freighters and that all of them had their ID transponders on. Kanan reached for a switch low on the console. With a quiet click the _Ghost_ proclaimed itself to be the _Expedient Two,_ a freelance merchant vessel out of the Ganthel system.

The _Ghost_ sailed past the near-motionless rocks suspended in space. Their pock-marked surfaces shimmered silver in the sun. Silicon-based, most likely, Kanan decided. Carbon had a muted, smoky reflection while germanium shimmered like a liquid mirror frozen in the vacuum of space. If they had been in a field of germanium, they likely would have gone blind.

After a few short minutes the asteroid field opened up into a space that had been cleared of all major debris. At the center of the clearing sat an asteroid large enough to be called a planetoid. Mostly spherical in shape, its surface was roughly damaged by a hundred millennia’s worth of errant collisions and the icy spray of passing comets. Despite the palpable history of past violence, there sat in one of its craters the unmistakable indicators of civilization: habitat domes and rows of blinking lights.

From space, Polis Massa didn’t look like much. Not that it was haphazardly built– on the contrary, it was a well-designed (and shockingly well-maintained) gem of a settlement, especially considering how close it was to wild space. But it also had a bland, utilitarian feel. No cultures had grown up on Polis Massa; it had no clear history, no music of art of its own, and definitely no native species. It was a colony filled with scientists and wayfarers, its soul as cold and bleak as the soundless fields of rock that surrounded it.

For Kanan, the settlement barely solicited a glance. “What, exactly, brings us out here again?” he asked.

“Giza,” Hera said without taking her eyes off the viewport. “He’s a salvage operator who works mostly on stripping old battle-field wrecks from the Clone Wars.”

“A grave-digger. Classy,” Kanan made a face. The display lit up with an automated communication from the port authority and he sent over the _Ghost/Expedient Two’s_ landing codes. Hera had docked here once before and qualified for “express processing” as a known vessel. That meant no negotiations with the port authority and a discounted landing fee.

“Maybe not,” Hera agreed. She pushed forward on the yoke and the ship accelerated towards the blinking lights. “But there have been rumors going around for a while that Giza has a special kind of luck with the Empire.”

Hera wasn’t one to talk about luck, so the word caught Kanan’s interest. “What kind of luck?” he asked.

“Like when one of his ships shows up, the Empire tends to back off.”

Kanan’s expression was cynical and calculating. “I hate to break it to you, but that sounds like bribery, not luck.”

“I thought so, too, but there are just as many reports of the Empire leaving when he shows up as there are of Imperial vessels standing down.”

His dark eyebrows pulled together. “That’s… weird,” he said.

“A few weeks ago, some Bothans were caught in an illegal salvage in the Kadavo system. Then the Empire shows up and prepares to fire.” Hera frowned and readjusted her grip on the control yoke. “They were just trying to get some base metals to sell for food and supplies. They weren’t scavenging weapons or technology.” Hera took a deep breath to calm her building rage. Her lekku uncurled and she continued. “That’s when Giza’s frigate appeared. No one had seen it because of all the debris and scan interference. But after a few minutes the Imperial ship powered down its weapons and told the Bothans they were free to go.”

Hera sat up in her seat, becoming more animated as she spoke. “And there’s more,” she said. “The Imperial ship that stopped them was found a week later in port completely abandoned.”

“Not that _is_ interesting.” Kanan leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs. He stroked his goatee. “And that’s why we’re here? To find out the secret of this Giza person?”

“That’s right,” she nodded.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is this going to be like when you were stalking Vidian on Gorse? Because I’m not sure I’m up for fighting another raging cyborg while trying to keep a moon from exploding.

Hera chuckled. “I doubt it’ll be that intense,” she said. “I’m actually going to try to talk to Giza. I want to see what kind of a person he is. Why he does– whatever it is.” She leaned towards Kanan as she added, “Who knows? You might even be able to pick up a new trick or two from him.”

He had to give a smile to that. If there was a way to make Imperials back off without firing a blaster, he wanted to know it, even if it sounded like less fun.

Hera’s smile was placid as she eased the _Ghost_ to hover over the docking port opening like a trap door on the surface of the asteroid. “At the very least, I think there’s something to be learned here.”

“And at the most?”

“A potential ally.” She switched off the ion propulsion engines, preparing to enter the docking area. “And even if he’s _not_ a potential ally, he might still turn out to be a source for future jobs.”

 _“’Jobs,’”_ Kanan repeated. “Like smuggling?”

Hera shrugged. “Like… untaxed deliveries,” she offered.

“Ah,” Kanan said.

Below the ship, the grey, barren expanse of Polis Massa slid away to reveal a warm, yellow light emanating from below. The ship hummed as Hera seamlessly guided it through a vertical descent. Ribbons of golden light slid from bottom to top and out of sight as they guided the way down. Hera kept her attention on the proximity sensors, making sure they were well clear of the walls.

There was a quiet _whoosh_ from down the hallway behind them and the distinct double-clank of a C1 unit rolling into the cockpit. Although his instincts told him to watch out for an imminent attack, Kanan’s pride kept his eyes on the viewport. Chopper grumbled innocuously about the irritations of being trapped underground in an artificially pressurized environment.

As the ship descended into the heart of the asteroid, Kanan took a deep breath. He knew he was walking into more craziness for his crazy life, but he had no desire to walk away. This was the new life he had chosen, and he would be ready for whatever it had to throw at him.

Or so he thought.

The _Ghost_ touched down on the landing pad. The second the ship had settled, Kanan felt it. A sharp zing scraped along his spine like a knife. His hands curled around the ends of the armrests as his neck stretched forward. He was listening, but for what he didn’t know; he only knew that it was gone. The sound he was waiting to hear wasn’t there. The entire settlement was silent… like a tomb.


End file.
